


George Weasley's Most Eligible

by yellowroses_ra9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Romance, Auror Harry Potter, BAMF Blaise Zabini, BAMF Ginny Weasley, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Declarations Of Love, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is a Good Boyfriend, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Drama & Romance, Endgame Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Gay Theodore Nott, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Fluff, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Love at First Sight, Love/Hate, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Matchmaker Pansy Parkinson, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pining Draco Malfoy, Protective Blaise Zabini, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Slow Romance, Smut, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowroses_ra9/pseuds/yellowroses_ra9
Summary: It’s the exciting new tv show that everybody’s talking about! Featuring everybody’s favorite single wizards and witches! And in a place you’d NEVER expect—Malfoy Manor. And yes, Draco Malfoy will be onscreen looking for love. Will he find somebody who can forgive his past—and find redemption in the form of love? Or will nothing ever be the same for the young bachelor? And what about Harry Potter himself—will he finally go down on one knee for Ginevra Weasley? And finally, the question the world's been dying to know—what about our favorite Golden Girl, Hermione Granger? Will she get back together with Ron—or will she finally get over her old beau and find her true love once and for all? What we can tell you is, here at the Manor, love is for everyone. You will not want to miss all the heartbreaking drama; but, alas, in the end, it’s all about love. Don’t miss us every Saturday, all winter long. Ladies and gentleman, you’re watching George Weasley’s Most Eligible!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 53
Kudos: 113





	1. Love and Contracts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+daughter), [Gaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaby/gifts), [sabrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrina/gifts), [Your1destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your1destiny/gifts), [dev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev/gifts).



> Hi everybody! Thank you for clicking on George Weasley's Most Eligible! I've had this plot bunny stuck in my head for a really long time and I'm FINALLY letting myself write it!  
> For readers of The Impossible Dream: This story is in a TEMPORARY hiatus. It WILL be finished, but I don't have the time right now to give it the energy that I believe that it deserves. When I started writing the Impossible Dream, my husband and I were going through a trial of infertility. Soon after I posted the story, we found out that I was pregnant! Here I am, almost a year later, a new mom to a perfect twelve-week-old baby girl who has become my entire world! I love her more than anything and will always put her first!! It was a very hard pregnancy and adjusting to life as a mother has also been challenging for me. But I love that story and I have every intention of finishing it; I just need time to adjust to this new life I've built!  
> In the meantime, I hope that you all enjoy George Weasley's Most Eligible. I love Dramione; it's my OTP and I'm ecstatic to finally be contributing to the fandom that I love so much. This story is based on the TV show Bachelor in Paradise and it is mostly fluff, hopefully not too OOC, with a little bit of angst. It's meant to be a fun, lighthearted love story that hopefully still isn't rushed. I hope that you all enjoy it and leave a review if you feel so inclined. If it's not your thing, no worries, I get it. I hope someone out there enjoys reading it just as much as I'm enjoying writing it! And if you read this far, thank you, I appreciate the support more than you'll ever know. But enough out of me, let's get on with it, yeah?

ONE

HERMIONE Granger had tried.

_ Really _ , she  _ did _ !

_ Valiantly _ , she might add, did she try to introduce good Muggle culture into the Wizarding World. Things like religion, Shakespeare, modern philosophy, beautiful music, and inspiring history. All of the beautiful and enriching aspects that made Muggle culture what it was today. She wanted Pureblood culture to  _ embrace  _ it, to be proud of the advances and beauties that Muggles could make.

_ This _ , however...was not exactly what she had in mind.

“.....so tune in on all of your new little telly-visions two weeks from Sunday for the first  _ ever  _ episode of ‘George Weasley’s Most Eligible!’ Sponsored by--”

“This is bollocks,” Hermione hissed at her new,  _ wizard  _ television before shutting it off with a swish of her wand. Her flat went quiet, aside from her irritated huffs and her redheaded friend’s excited laughter.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Ginny Weasley declared beside her, “besides, you  _ are  _ the one who introduced the entire family to--oh, what is it called--”

“Garbage?” Hermione supplied bitterly.

Ginny shot her a look before she continued, “reality television.” Hermione just stared back at her best friend in annoyance and huffed again.

“I should have known better than to show Molly Weasley ‘The Bachelor,’” Hermione grumbled as she sunk lower into the couch, side-eyeing at Ginny and glaring at the high-tec wizard invention in front of her face. Ginny rolled her eyes and said, “it’s actually based on the island version; you know, the one where there are  _ multiple  _ men and women there to date whoever they want on the show, not just the one man with multiple women there just to date  _ him _ . Blimey, what is that  _ called _ ?”

“Bachelor in Paradise,” Hermione begrudgingly supplied with a frown and a large  _ harrumph  _ as she sank into her seat on the couch. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore; I haven’t seen you since you came back from Paris! How was the match? How are  _ you _ ?” Ginny merely shrugged next to her before giving a heavy sigh.

Immediately, Hermione shot up from the couch and glanced over at her friend with concerned eyes. She knew that sigh; that was her Harry-and-I-are-having-trouble-again sigh, her I’m-so-distraught-but-too-distraught-to-say-anything sigh; and, as Hermione gave her dearest friend the once over, she noted that Ginny  _ did _ look rather sad today.

“G,” Hermione cautiously prodded, sidling up next to her friend on the loveseat and giving her warm, yet concerned, eyes. “What’s going on with you?” Ginny sighed again and Hermione watched as her redheaded friend’s brown eyes started filling to the brim with tears that she stubbornly held in, not allowing them to fall down her pale cheeks.

“I’m going on George’s new show,” Ginny quietly declared, looking at Hermione through tear-filled, half-lidded eyelids to gauge her reaction. Hermione recoiled a little bit in shock, taken aback by her friend's bold decision.

“You’re--you’re  _ what _ ?” Hermione gasped incredulously, frantically searching her friend’s eyes for any semblance of an explanation. “You’re going on his stupid Bachelor ripoff show? Ginny why?”

“Well--”

“What about Harry?” Ginny went silent instantly at her question and soon after began to sob. Hermione’s blood ran cold as guilt ran over her. She had no idea what she did, but she had obviously done _something_ wrong. Hermione’s arms went around her friend as she desperately tried to comfort her, and Ginny threw her arms around her right back and buried her face in Hermione’s neck. 

Ginny sobbed for nearly half an hour when she finally began to calm down. She wiped her red-rimmed eyes and shook her head, likely to clear her jumbled mind. She finally turned to face Hermione, and with a deep breath said, “Harry won’t open up to me anymore, Hermione. Ever since the damn war, he won’t tell me how he’s feeling, or what he wants and needs from me, and he refuses to progress our relationship any further.”

Hermione blinked, confused. “But I thought that the two of you were talking about getting engaged?” She questioned, pulling off of the couch and twirling the ends of her curls anxiously. She was worried about Harry--they  _ all  _ were--and she didn’t know what to do when it seemed like he continuously alienated the best woman in his life.

“No,” Ginny grumbled, “I was talking about getting engaged. To you. Harry wants nothing to do with  _ any _ of it! Sure he’ll have fun with me sometimes— buy me nice things, take me out on expensive dates, have sex with me--but Merlin forbid he even  _ think  _ about getting engaged. Or moving in together--or even putting a bloody  _ label _ on our relationship!”

“Ginny--”

“No, stop, Hermione.” Ginny choked back a sob. “I know what you’re going to say; that the war and everything preceding it was put completely on Harry’s shoulders, that he’s still recovering and it wasn’t an easy thing to go through or to get over. I know he has lingering trauma, Hermione, but do I deserve to be cast aside because of it? Truly?” Ginny’s words tugged at Hermione’s heartstrings and with a heavy sigh, she wrapped her arms around her best friend once more.

“I was  _ actually  _ going to say that that sounds terribly hard and you don’t deserve any of it,” Hermione amended, resting her head on top of Ginny’s. “The war  _ was  _ hard and Harry  _ did  _ go through a lot; but you’re right, Gin. If he loves you, he should be man enough to be with you completely; and alternatively, if he doesn’t love you, he should be man enough to tell you that he doesn’t love you and allow you both to move on with your lives.”

“He didn’t take it well,” Ginny admitted, quirking her lip to the side as she often did when discussing something rather uncomfortable. “When I told him I was thinking about dating other people, I mean. I didn’t explicitly tell him that I would be on the show, though...” Ginny trailed off guiltily.

“I imagine,” Hermione muttered with a nod. “What did he say?”

Ginny groaned. “Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “that I just needed to give him more time and be more patient with him. I argued that I have been patient for--what,  _ five  _ years if you count sixth and seventh year-- and that I was hurt by his lack of commitment. I told him that if he wanted me to stay with him, he’d have to tell me he loved me now and that he wanted to move forward with me.”

The implications of what Harry didn’t do hung heavily in the air until eventually Hermione asked, “and?”

“And nothing,” Ginny gasped out, beginning to sob again. “He literally said absolutely  _ nothing _ , Hermione! He stood there, shook his head, and Floo’d out somewhere-- _ Godric  _ knows where.” Hermione squeezed her friend tighter in her sympathy--and anger towards her  _ other  _ best friend. Those two boys of hers may be the greatest friends she’d ever had, but they sure were bloody  _ stupid _ .

Ron and herself had ended things between them a year ago, after an engagement that lasted two and a half years. He had kept pushing the wedding date farther and farther out until one day, Hermione confronted him, confused.

“I already bought the dress and booked and  _ rebooked  _ a venue  _ twice  _ Ronald,” she had said, slamming her coffee down on their shared table. “Why is this date no good, either? What is your excuse  _ this  _ time?”

His response had shattered her heart.

“I don’t  _ love  _ you Hermione!” He had hissed--and then, as if he hadn’t realized he was going to say that, he immediately blanched and covered his mouth. The damage had been done; Hermione broke down in tears, Ron began to sob, and he pulled her over to the couch where he explained that he  _ thought _ his feelings were romantic but they just  _ weren’t _ and he couldn’t pretend for his family’s sake anymore that they were. 

They didn’t part ways amicably, but reunited as friends six months later. While their friendship wasn’t the same and perhaps would  _ never  _ be the same, Hermione was still grateful to have a semblance of him back in her life. She wasn’t in love with him either anymore, although it took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize that. One day, she had just woken up, felt alright again, and realized there were a lot of things  _ she  _ was also pretending to be.

She was still too much of a coward (what happened to that Gryffindor bravery, she’d never know) to demand a promotion at the Ministry. She had worked  _ so  _ incredibly hard to  _ not  _ be handed anything for free due to her Golden Trio status, that the Minister of Magic had put her working under Helga Beaufort--an awful woman who, for whatever reason, hated Hermione. Apparently not being handed anything for free, or even easily, meant putting her under the most spiteful and difficult woman in the world.

They worked under the magical creatures division; something that Hermione had started out being really passionate about. She went into it with big dreams of freeing house elves from slavery, ending the stigma against werewolves, discovering and freeing new species--the possibilities were endless and frankly,  _ intoxicating _ .

But the minute she met her new boss, Helga, things started to take a turn for the worse. Helga and her coworkers--a mix of women who were much prettier than Hermione and they knew it, too-- had successfully accomplished their goal of isolating Hermione to the point of making her feel like she was much less than. They laughed at her ideas during meetings, they pretended to fund her projects until something “better” came around, they even politely mocked her when she called off her engagement to Ron. She’s been wondering for the past year when and how she was going to leave and do something better, but she hadn’t gotten up the courage to just  _ do  _ it yet.

Possibly because once Ron broke up with her, she  _ did  _ start feeling inferior to other women. Especially when she looked at the women that  _ he  _ chose to date in the Prophet……

“Ginny I’m sorry,” Hermione lamented as she sucked in a deep breath, pushing her memories and regrets out of her mind. “I wish I could tell you what he’s thinking, but I honestly don’t have any idea.” Ginny shrugged and smiled a brilliant smile, wiping the tears away from her eyes. If Hermione hadn’t watched her as she cried, she would’ve never known that she'd been crying in the first place. Hermione, on the other hand, could never pull that off.

“You know, I think that I said those exact same words to  _ you  _ when Ron broke off your engagement,” Ginny beamed and prodded Hermione with her elbow in her side, making her yelp and nearly fall off of the little strip of loveseat that she had managed to actually claim. Hermione laughed and Ginny even managed a little giggle.

“I think that you did, actually,” Hermione confirmed, scrunching her nose in her laughter. Ginny’s face fell and suddenly turned somber again as she pulled Hermione into an embrace, burying her face in her bushy hair.

“What the hell is wrong with those two boys?”

“I have no idea, Gin.”

“Bastards.”

Hermione chuckled. “Indeed.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Burrow was typically loud, but the Sunday following Ginny’s confession it was particularly buzzing. George’s dimwitted new show was set to start filming the next night, and the Weasley clan was quite ecstatic; it had gotten press in every major magazine and tabloid, and George Weasley was somebody the wizarding world was now keen on watching. The knowledge made Molly Weasley glow.

“You’d think he cured cancer,” Hermione grumbled, her form pressed into a shadow in the corner of the large living room. “With the way they’re treating him.” Harry scoffed beside her, also retreating into the shadows to hide from as many Weasley’s as possible. As his and Ginny’s breakup recently went public, Molly Weasley was not the most understanding of women. 

“It is sort of ridiculous, isn’t it?” Her dearest friend agreed, shaking his head at the spectacle before him. Most of the Weasley’s donned famous Molly sweaters with George’s signature red rose sewn into the front, just like it would be on the show.  _ They really did watch too many episodes of The Bachelor _ , Hermione thought to herself with a roll of her eyes. She caught Ron out of the corner of them sneaking a biscuit cheekily whilst boasting about the women he would be dating on the show. He, evidently, would also be appearing on George Weasley’s Most Eligible. Imagine that. 

“I can’t believe Ron is leaving his supermodel girlfriends to do George’s show,” Hermione finally voiced, eyeing Harry closely to gauge his reaction. Her friend was stoic for a minute, but then he winced as he thought more on it. The boy was never good at hiding his emotions; but then again, neither was she. 

“Ron really does want to find real love, Hermione,” Harry insisted, watching her carefully to ensure that he was not hurting her feelings. “I know that you wanted it to be with you.”

“A long time ago, Harry,” Hermione sighed, giving him a stern glance that warned him to choose his words carefully. “I’m not in love with him anymore; I just think the show is stupid and I would hate for him to further tarnish his reputation. You  _ know _ if he does something incredibly stupid that George won’t edit it out. He’s all about being authentic these days.”

“Speaking of authenticity,” Harry changed the subject, clearly uncomfortable. That boy was as subtle as a mandrake. “Did you know that George has invented a sort of charmed, microscopic camera lens to fly around the Manor to spy on people and catch as much footage as they can? He did it to ensure that there could be no secrets and that the audience truly does get to see everything; even the boring parts.”

Hermione snorted; it was genius, really. Microscopic, flying cameras--with microphones attached, she presumed--to secretly record every conversation, every kiss, every quarrel? She hated to admit how much the idea impressed her that she--

_ Wait _ .

“The _Manor_?” Hermione hissed, suddenly animated and darting in front of Harry when he tried to step away. Harry’s eyes went wide with fear, a look he’d subjected her to many times before. “As in the infamous _Malfoy_ Manor? As in the place where we were tortured and many people were _murdered_? The place that has been _completely_ locked down and isolated to just Malfoy and his mother ever since the war?” Even though she was yelling at him in accusation, she genuinely thought that she might be wrong; there had to be some _other_ Manor somewhere, because surely George would _never_ film his TV show in such a dreary, dark, and evil place. However as she glared at her best friend for an answer, he could only chomp his lip nervously and avoid her menacing stare.

Outraged, Hermione cried, “What in Merlin’s name is that boy  _ thinking _ ? He can’t do his show at Malfoy Manor! For Godric’s sake, why would he  _ want  _ to?”

“Listen Hermione, George isn’t as dumb as you’d like to give him credit for,” Harry cut in, shushing her nervously and darting his eyes around the room to ensure that she hadn’t made too large of a scene. “If he’s choosing the Manor, there must be a damn good reason for it; plus, if it makes you feel any better, I heard that Narcissa Malfoy renovated the entire Manor. Most of the rooms we were…...you know, in, don’t even exist anymore. The whole layout is completely different.”

“If it makes me  _ feel  _ any better,” Hermione hissed under her breath with a roll of her eyes and a cross of her arms. She leaned back against the wall in her little shadowy corner, but her solitude was short lived when Molly Weasley called, “It’s ready! Everybody gather around the table now!” 

Harry shot Hermione a pleading look and beckoned her over to the table with him. Begrudgingly she went, and she told herself that she would be completely silent for the whole meal, even though she hated what was surely to be the topic of conversation tonight. Even though her and Ron couldn’t make things work, she really admired Molly and adored Arthur. She could be civil for them, even if their idiotic son was doing an idiotic tv show and their  _ other  _ idiotic son was  _ making _ said tv show.

“What a blessed, beautiful Sunday!” Molly proclaimed as she flicked her wand and served up a plate of homemade, warm roast to every person seated at the long table. Everybody began greedily digging in--when Molly Weasley made you food, you didn’t waste it--and just as Hermione had predicted, the topic of conversation quickly turned to George’s new show. 

“The roses will switch off every week obviously,” George was saying between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes and gravy, “although the men will start with them first. So a few women will be going home;  _ but  _ they will get the roses first during the next week. Just like Bachelor in Paradise, but instead of an island, we’re at a newly redeemed mansion.”

_ Redeemed is not a word that I would ever use to describe anything to do with Draco Malfoy _ , Hermione pondered bitterly between sharp stabs at her roast with her fork. 

“I’m just so incredibly proud that three of my children will be participating in such a wonderful contribution to the Wizarding World,” Molly gushed, her chubby cheeks turning red with pride and tears filling the brims of her eyes. Hermione doubted that ‘George Weasley’s Most Eligible’ was a wonderful contribution to the Wizarding World, as Molly so eloquently put it, but she knew better than to pipe up with her opinion on the matter. Instead, she gave Molly a tight smile when she glanced at her and went back to picking at her roast eagerly. She wasn’t sure if the grumbling in her tummy was hunger or an eagerness to end the conversation.

Nobody said anything else for a while until Harry, who Hermione suspected had been holding in his question for quite a while, asked, “Three?”

If Hermione thought that the room was silent before, she was wrong. The entire Burrow was completely void of noise now, and Harry looked around in confusion as nobody dared to answer his question. Hermione glanced down at Ginny who was biting her lip and staring at her plate of food guiltily and nervously. 

“I mean,” Harry continued, and Hermione could hear the hurt and tears threatening to thicken his words in his throat, “It’s George’s show obviously, so that’s one. Ron is going on to find love, so that’s two; I’m very curious to know who the third one is.” It was hard not to stare down towards Ginny, but Hermione managed it; she didn’t even look up when Ginny cleared her throat.

“I’m going on the show too, Harry,” she admitted quietly. Hermione could feel her anxiety from across the table and it took everything in her not to wince, or to show any kind of emotion at all. Harry, who was seated next to her tensed; he was barely holding it together, and she knew she couldn’t do anything to help him. Merlin, as bad as she felt for him, this whole fiasco with Ginny was  _ his  _ fault.

“For--to help behind the scenes, you mean?” Harry prodded, a note of pleading to his voice. Hermione thought for a moment that he sounded hopeful, but he didn’t; he was begging. Begging Ginny to tell him that what he was thinking was wrong. To deny what was really going to happen there.

“You know, maybe we should move on to dessert--”

“No, Harry,” Ginny responded, cutting her poor, helpful mother off. “I’m going to be  _ on  _ the show. To find love.” Hermione finally looked up; Harry was clenching his fork so tightly that his entire fist had turned as white as a ghost. Ginny was determinedly staring at him straight in the eye, the brave thing that she was. Hermione and Ron shared a glance of mutual awkwardness, both trying to find a way to alleviate the situation if at all possible. 

“I just don’t understand, Ginny,” Harry responded monotonously, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The very conversation he was having. “Why do you need to do that? You and I--”

“You have made it  _ very  _ clear that you and I have no progressing future,” Ginny interrupted, beginning to get fiery and upset. “I deserve to be with somebody who wants a  _ future  _ with me, Harry!”

“That’s enough,” Molly Weasley commanded, and when she commanded, you listened. Ginny quieted down immediately and Harry, tears in his frustrated eyes, turned away from the table and decided to stare at the wall. Arthur and Bill excused themselves from the table awkwardly, and Hermione linked her ankle with Ginny’s from under the table comfortingly. Ginny didn’t look up at her, but she tapped her with her foot and Hermione knew that she was indeed using her for support. Fleur held her newborn baby Rosali in her arms, but from Harry’s other side, began to whisper something comfortingly to him that Hermione couldn’t quite catch.

“I know that this is, well, quite tense,” George interrupted. Hermione couldn’t help but glare down the table at him, feeling as though this was  _ somewhat  _ his fault, even though logically she knew that it really wasn’t at all. “But you know, Harry, with the way that the show works, you could always join the contestants on a later episode. We bring in at  _ least  _ two new people each week so people are always getting sent home. Could give you a chance to resolve things with Ginny here--” Ginny growled at George’s intrusion-- “or, you know, find love elsewhere?” This time, Ginny stood from the table and left the room, unable to hear anymore talk about Harry with anybody but her, presumably. 

“I don’t know about that George,” Harry sighed as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He looked exhausted and Hermione wondered what exactly was going through that boy’s head. A thought she  _ often  _ had throughout the years, in all honesty.

“Bloody hell, come  _ on  _ Harry!” George prodded excitedly, still rapidly vacuuming up his entire plate of food as he spoke. Molly was still watching the scene apprehensively as a newly calmed Ginny rejoined the table and focused solely on her plate of food. “It’ll be  _ great  _ for me if you joined; you could even leave if you hated the experience. Shite, even just having you on for five  _ minutes  _ is guaranteed to get me thousands of new viewers, Harry!” George was turning red in the face with his animations as he tried valiantly to convince their friend. 

“Language,” Molly admonished.

“Sorry, Mum,” George offered blandly without even a glance her way. His steely, determined gaze was completely focused on Harry and only Harry now. “It’s not only for me Harry, it’ll be fun for you--all of your friends are trying it out! I mean, we’ve established Ginny obviously but there’s also Ron, your best friend, and Neville, Luna--shite, even  _ Hermione  _ is doing it--”

“ _ What _ ?” Hermione hissed, shooting up from her spot at the table. In her haste she had knocked over and spilled the gravy, causing George to actually startle and break his gaze from Harry to watch Hermione. Her hands were wringing her napkin nervously as she stared him down. “That’s not funny George; don’t lie to Harry about me doing the show just to get yourself a couple more watchers--”

“But I’m not lying,” George interrupted, visibly confused and honestly, quite nervous. “You signed the contract, Hermione. We have a valid deal that you’ll be one of the starting contestants on the show.” Hermione was stunned into silence; what contract was he referencing? She hadn’t seen George in  _ months _ , let alone gotten anywhere  _ near  _ enough to his shop to sign a bloody contract!

“Very funny, George,” Hermione growled, “I’m not laughing.”

“And  _ I’m  _ not joking--”

“Hermione,” Ginny piped up from the table. Hermione looked over to her friend, a sinking feeling in her gut. Ginny had a guilty look painted across her previously sad features, and she was gnawing a hole into her bottom lip. “I signed you up for the show, Hermione.”

The room was silent except for a thick fog of tension that had seemed to settle over everybody during the course of the last hour. Arthur and Bill  _ still  _ hadn’t returned, and Hermione suspected that after they heard her next tantrum, they may never do so.

“Ginevra  _ Molly  _ Weasley--”

“No, wait, just hear me out for a minute, alright?” Ginny begged, running around the table towards Hermione and pulling her away from everybody else so that they could talk privately. Hermione was still fuming, but she allowed her friend to pull her away and out of the earshot of the others. She didn’t want to let Molly hear her rip into her only daughter, after all.

“You better have a way to get me out of this Ginny, or I swear, you won’t _live_ long enough to _get_ married because I’m going to _kill_ you,” Hermione threatened, subconsciously balling her hands into fists. Her curls were splayed all around her head in a wild manner; even her _hair_ was more angry than usual. 

“I don’t have a way to get you out of it because it’s a magically binding contract,” Ginny explained levelly, trying to calm her friend down by being calm herself, “and besides, I don’t  _ want _ to get you out of it.”

“No magic is that secure,” Hermione argued, although she was unsure herself of what exactly she was dealing with here, “you’re naive to think that there’s no way out of it.”

“Okay, fine, there is a way out of it,” Ginny relented through gritted teeth, “but George didn’t want a ton of people quitting the show before it even got started so he made it...difficult.”

“Difficult?” Hermione prodded, getting more and more infuriated by each second that passed, “ _ How. Difficult?” _

Ginny grinned nervously and with a faux confident shrug of her shoulders answered, “Those who back out of the contract and don’t appear on the show are legally and magically bound to help out on set for the duration of the show,” she explained.

_ Oh. _ “That hardly sounds worse,” Hermione scoffed.

“Well, you in particular would be doing hair and makeup. With Pansy Parkinson,” Ginny finished explaining as she desperately held in a laugh.

Hermione’s face fell. “What the hell kind of sick punishment--I can’t even  _ do  _ hair and makeup! He wouldn’t want me to do that!”  _ And not to mention helping alongside that horrid woman--Pansy Parkinson could give Helga a run for her money. _

“No, he doesn’t,” Ginny agreed, “but he’d be willing to let you, just to make you work for Parkinson. As payment, you know, for backing out of the show.”

“Hold on,” Hermione interrupted, rubbing her eyes tiredly as her stress began to build, “How can I break a contract that I never even signed?” She had her now and she knew it; there could be no magically binding contract if she never signed it, and she was certain that she didn’t. After all, she likely would have remembered signing a contract to air her love life out for George Weasley to exploit to the Wizarding World; as if Rita Skeeter wasn’t enough……

“Well, that’s quite the funny thing,” Ginny giggled nervously, and it was then that Hermione realized that everybody’s eyes were still watching the two of them dramatically, hanging onto every last word. Harry, in particular, looked quite interested in the conversation. “You actually did sign the contract, Hermione.”

Hermione’s attention whipped straight back to Ginny and she huffed, ready to argue, when Ginny continued, “Do you remember that Muggle doorman?” 

Hermione’s open mouth closed quickly in confusion at Ginny’s words; Muggle doorman? She lived in a decent apartment complex in downtown Muggle London, but it surely wasn’t nice enough to have its own doorman.

“Ginny, I don’t have the faintest idea--”

“No, yes, Hermione, the Muggle who comes to your door and brings us--oh, what is it called again?--pizza?” Hermione nearly laughed at the way that Ginny pronounced ‘pizza’ but decided against it when she remembered she was quite angry with her still. Instead, she immediately began searching through her own memories for any recollection of the pizzaman having anything  _ at all  _ to do with George’s show contract; when she ended up drawing multiple blanks, she just looked at Ginny with a sigh and shook her head in defeat.

“I don’t see how the pizzaman plays into this,” Hermione finally admitted when Ginny didn’t say anything. Ginny drew a deep, deep breath, and then slowly let it out before saying, “A couple of weeks ago, you ordered us a pizza and the pizzaman came to the door. I noticed you were in a rush and I told you he needed you to sign something for the payment?”

Hermione’s eyes darkened as she dawned with recognition; she was  _ quite _ frazzled that day. Helga had been running her around ragged, playing a job an intern should have been doing instead of her. Fetching coffees, making lunches--Hermione had been so tired that day that she hadn’t had the energy to just say no to the horrible woman. When she finally got back to her place, Ginny was waiting for her on the couch and she was too exhausted to make dinner. Instead, she told Ginny that they were having another Muggle ‘delicacy’. Ginny must have taken advantage of her mental state and tricked her into signing the bloody contract.

That all made sense, but what didn’t make sense was  _ why _ ?  _ Why _ did Ginny want her on the show in the first place? She knew how she felt about it; Merlin,  _ everybody  _ knew how she felt about it! Her best guess was that Ginny didn’t want to be alone in her television journey, especially given her breakup with Harry. But then again, Ginny said that this occured two weeks ago; before her breakup with Harry was even  _ official _ . Sure, their relationship had been on the rocks long before that, but to the best of her knowledge, the breakup had happened fairly recently. More recently than a couple of  _ weeks  _ ago.

“I cannot  _ believe  _ you,” Hermione growled, the telltale sign of tears beginning to prick at her eyes. The last thing that she needed was for the entire Wizarding World to watch as yet  _ another  _ batch of eligible men looked her over and chose prettier, more successful women. The whole world already pitied her after her breakup with Ron; she hardly needed to publicize her lack of a love life, and the lack of interested men on national TV. Of course, that  _ was _ why George wanted her on the show, she reasoned. The Wizarding World  _ wanted  _ to see the Golden Girl, Harry’s Potter’s ‘bright’ and ‘clever’ best friend try to find love. Of course, there was a good population of the Wizarding World who, Hermione surmised, would love to see her fail at that task as well. 

“‘Mione,” Ron jumped in, leaning back in the chair he had now stolen next to Harry, “think of it this way. You only have to actually be on the show for  _ one  _ week; right? The men have the roses and they get to choose which  _ women  _ stay and which women go. So, just, don’t accept the rose from anybody and go home. It’s better than working with  _ Pansy Parkinson,  _ bloody hell, for three months. I mean, whose to say that anybody there will actually be interested in you anyways--”

“Wow,” Hermione laughed bitterly, trying desperately not to let herself cry in front of her ex-fiancé, “thanks, Ronald.” Ginny glared furiously at her brother and with clenched fists, began to open up her mouth when George jumped up from the table anxiously, clearing his throat so as to get everybody’s attention.

“Well, that’s not exactly entirely accurate,” George piped up with a squeaky voice, adjusting his sweater and clearing his throat one more time anxiously. “You see, Hermione, the people in the Wizarding World  _ adore  _ you. They love to see the things that you’re accomplishing, the friends that you make, but even more than all of that, they’re  _ begging  _ to know just who you’ll date next, get engaged to,  _ marry _ . If I can be the one to show it to them--”

“George,” Hermione interrupted, a dangerous edge of warning sharpening her voice, “you best get on with the, ‘not entirely accurate’ portion of your speech.” George lost a little bit of color in his already pale face and he nodded.

“Right,” he agreed. “You’re a big moneymaker for me, Hermione. I need you on the show for longer than a single episode or two; so, in your contract, I  _ specifically  _ put that if any male were to offer you a rose, you’re obligated to accept it that first week. Or, risk breeching your contract and work with Pansy, of course.”

“Merlin,” Hermione swore, rubbing her temples furiously with her thumbs. Her eyes began to be sore from holding in her tears and she took in a deep, soothing breath. She just needed to hold it in until the end of this conversation when she could go home and let everything out in the bathtub. “George, what if nobody even  _ offers  _ me a rose--you know, as Ron so sweetly suggested--then what? I can go home without breech of contract?” This was her best  _ worst  _ case scenario and she knew it; on the one hand, she could be done with the show and not have to ever lay her eyes on Parkinson. But, on the other hand, the entire Wizarding World would watch her try to fall in love, and  _ fail _ . Again. 

As if that’s what she needed at work; even more reason for those spiteful, vain women to laugh and point their fingers at her like she was some kind of oddity, some joke she couldn’t understand. 

“Sure,” George agreed, and then with a wide, shiteating grin, added, “although I have it on good authority that that will  _ not  _ happen.” Hermione faltered and let her guard down, just for a second.

“I--what?” She asked, genuinely confused at his reaction. “What are you saying, George?”

“I’m not  _ saying  _ anything Hermione,” George chuckled, “I’m simply  _ insinuating _ that I might have it on good authority that one man is there specifically to pursue you--you know, maybe rekindle an old flame?”

Hermione balked; who the hell could he be talking about? Viktor Krum? He was the only other man she dated--and  _ dated _ was a very generous term--besides Ron. And anyways, Viktor was engaged to some gorgeous model who attended Beaxbaton’s with Fleur, last she had heard. Anybody other than that, she genuinely had no idea, and she knew he couldn’t be referencing Ron. Even if he was still in love with her, he wouldn’t embarrass himself enough to be rejected by her on live television.

“Fine,” Hermione relented, sinking to the floor and running her hands through her unruly hair, “I give up: you win. I’ll do the stupid show for the time alloted in my contract--but as soon as the second week is done and I give my rose out, you better  _ believe  _ I am rejecting everybody else’s roses and going back home, George.” It wasn’t ideal; but, the way that she saw it, at least this route ensured that she didn’t have to work with Pansy and that she  _ also  _ didn’t have to be on the show for very long, while also reminding the Wizarding World that somebody actually  _ could  _ be interested in her, even just for a fleeting second. Given that George was correct with his information, of course. 

“Hermione,” Ginny cut in again, pulling her friend towards the door to ensure that they  _ really  _ weren’t overheard this time, “can I explain myself?”

Hermione was exhausted; still, for her greatest friend, she said, “Sure, Gin. How about you Apparate with me to Hogsmeade and walk me home?” Ginny beamed and nodded eagerly as she went to fetch her coat, and Hermione pulled her red sweater on over her head, George’s rose sitting squarely in the middle of her chest, mocking her. She hugged Molly goodbye and waved to Arthur, who was in the kitchen. Harry gave her a parting kiss on the cheek and whispered to her that she would be alright--she was Hermione Granger, after all. Brightest Witch of their age. 

When Ginny returned with her bright yellow trench coat, she linked her arm with Hermione’s and the two of them Apparated just outside of the Three Broomsticks. It was quiet, and quite desolate tonight, save for a lone Blaise Zabini in the corner. He gave them a small, sad smile when they walked in. Blaise worked in the Ministry as well, in a neighboring department, and Hermione saw him decently often. He was the one and only Slytherin from their year that she actually got on with; he didn’t play an active part in the war, and view that as you would, Hermione quite liked Blaise. He was openly kind to her, and while he never outright apologized for his part in her torment at school, he certainly had implied that he was sorry from their few, brief interactions. For now, that was enough for her. 

Ginny ordered them both a small amount of Firewhiskey to go, and then with a nod to Blaise, they left the pub. They walked the cobblestoned, dimly lit streets of Hogsmeade, as things were already closed and quieted for the night, save for the pubs and the new nightclubs that had popped up in recent years. The girls sipped on their warm alcohol gingerly, mindlessly turning familiar corners without really giving much thought to themselves or their surroundings. Both women seemed to be deep in thought; Hermione, worrying over her next few weeks, and Ginny, trying to piece together exactly what she had wanted to say to her best friend.

“Whyever you think that I did it,” Ginny started off, “it probably isn’t that.” Hermione raised a single eyebrow at her friend but didn’t comment, a silent permission of sorts for her to continue. “When Ron called off the engagement, Hermione, you became…...a shell of yourself, for a little while. You’re finally getting back to the Hermione that we all know and love now, little by little, but you still aren’t letting yourself be  _ her  _ fully yet. It’s like you think that because Ron couldn’t love you, that nobody ever  _ will _ , Hermione; and I’m not saying that you  _ need _ a man to love you, because you don’t. None of us do, but damn it Hermione, you deserve it. I wish that you could see you the way that  _ I _ see you, or even the way that Harry sees you.”

“And what way is that?” Hermione questioned, gulping down her nerves and the last bit of her Firewhiskey.

“Brilliantly,” Ginny answered without even a hesitation, beat, or a pause. “We think that you’re brilliant, Hermione. And I don’t just mean smart; you’re brilliantly kind, and beautiful, and courageous. You let yourself get caught up in your lack of things, and you didn’t let yourself see that there are  _ so  _ many men who would be interested in you Hermione. But between Ron leaving you and those awful bitches--”

“Ginny--”

“That you work for at the Ministry, you started letting yourself believe that you were less,” Ginny continued on, just as they stopped right outside of Hermione’s apartment complex. “It’s sad really, Hermione, because you are so much more than you’re letting them make you to be. And I just thought that if I could get you to go on George’s show, that you would see that there was a  _ plethora _ of men who see what Harry and I see. Just because you aren’t opening your eyes to them, doesn’t mean that they aren’t out there--and I thought that the show would be the perfect setting to prove to you that people  _ do  _ still see you that way.”

“Gin--”

“But if I was completely off base by signing you up for that, then I apologize, and I will find any way to get you out of it,” Ginny finished, fishing out her own copy of the key to her friend’s apartment and unlocking it for her the Muggle way. Hermione smiled; it was funny sometimes, and more satisfying than it should have been, to watch her Pureblood friends prefer the Muggle way of doing things. Ginny pushed open the door and then bravely looked Hermione in the eye, desperately trying to search for any kind of indication of how she might be feeling. 

Hermione was touched; it was one thing to wonder how people felt about her, and another to hear it all laid out for her so kindly, if albeit a little bit blunt. She threw her arms around her friend who eagerly hugged her back, and they embraced for a long time while Hermione let a few tears escape onto Ginny’s  _ much  _ too brightly colored coat. 

“I really don’t want to work with Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione giggled and Ginny laughed along with her, relieved to hear her friend’s acceptance of her apology. “And I don’t think that George would be too keen on letting me go; so, while I wish you  _ hadn’t  _ done it and I  _ don’t _ agree that it is a good decision for me, I forgive you. And I’ll do the damn show for the required two weeks, get George his precious viewers, and then return to my life as normal. He can consider it my contribution and support and then  _ never  _ ask anything from me ever again.”

Ginny actually threw her head back and laughed loudly at that before giving Hermione another hug goodbye and apparating back to the Burrow. When Hermione closed the door behind her, she sunk her back against it and sighed, letting her exhaustion take her over for a moment before drawing herself a nice bubble bath and immersing herself in the near-boiling water. With her eyes shut and the Firewhiskey running through her veins, she felt her muscles slowly relax until she began to fall asleep.

Removing herself from the tub, she squeezed her wet hair out and threw on a fluffy robe before falling onto her couch with a warm blanket, finally letting herself drift off to sleep.


	2. The Golden Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who's sticking around with this story! Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the idea. And Helga, but she's up for sale because I hate her. Also, I've had a lot of people concerned with the way that I've chosen to portray Hermione here and all I have to say is this: sometimes even strong people are broken. And there's nothing wrong with being broken. Just remember to find yourself again (:

“I THOUGHT the whole point of me doing the show was that I  _ wouldn’t  _ have to work with Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth as Ginny and herself walked into Madam Malkin’s. Hermione tended to shop at Muggle stores for her clothing, and only very occasionally came into Madam Malkin’s for dress robes--and only for very  _ special  _ occasions. She enjoyed her jeans and sweaters; wizard robes were  _ hot _ , stuffy, and not very attractive on her.  _ Or anyone _ , she mused to herself.

“You aren’t working with Pansy Parkinson,” Ginny reminded her, beckoning her to a back curtain with a wave to the Madam herself, “she works for George designing the wardrobe for the show, as well as running the hair and makeup team. We all have to be fitted and sized so she can make us the appropriate clothes.” Hermione groaned inwardly; the show was set to start filming tonight, and they hadn’t allowed her to pack her own clothes. Instead, all of the contestants were required to meet with Pansy at Madam Malkin’s to be fitted for clothes tailored especially for them so that they could look their best for the show. If it was anything like the  _ actual  _ Muggle reality show, Hermione knew she would be in much fancier clothes than she wanted to be in for the next-- _ hopefully _ \--two weeks. 

“She’ll probably jinx my clothes,” Hermione grumbled, eyeing the empty, open space before them. The dressing room was quite large, and something that Hermione might have expected in a bridal dressing room. The walls were glittering gold curtains, and in between the thin curtains were gigantic mirrors. The ceiling itself was little pieces of mirror mixed with glittering glass and an over-the-top chandelier.  _ A bit much, if you ask me.  _ __ “The woman hates me, you know.”

“You hate  _ her _ , you know,” Ginny pointed out, “besides, she’s really not all that bad. Bloody gorgeous and she knows her fashion; Muggle  _ and  _ Wizard.” Hermione mumbled that she didn’t care much about Pansy’s many talents and sunk into a large bench, trying her best to avoid the grandiose mirrors surrounding them. Before long, Hermione heard whispers of a harsh voice in her ears that started becoming louder and clearer, before Pansy herself finally walked into the large room with Blaise Zabini in tow.

“And if you  _ ever  _ make fun of me again, Blaise Zabini,” the dark-haired witch threatened with a jab of her quill, “I’ll make you regret it; don’t say I won’t, because you  _ know  _ that I sure as hell will.” Pansy finally looked in front of her and surveyed the room, before focusing her eyes straight onto Hermione. Hermione squirmed a little bit under her gaze and avoided her eyes, suddenly more interested in her reflection.

“Well!” Pansy’s pretty, musical voice chirped throughout the room. “If it isn’t the World’s favorite Golden Girls.”

“She’s the only Golden Girl here,” Ginny corrected, nodding at Blaise awkwardly and crossing her arms over her chest defensively. Hermione was glad to see that, despite her earlier statement, Ginny felt as awkward as she did. “I’m just Harry Potter’s ex-girlfriend.” Pansy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and stuck her quill behind her ear, her short black hair falling in waves behind it. 

“Well, then, Miss ‘ _ I’m just Harry Potter’s ex-girlfriend _ ,’ follow me into the next room please,” Pansy directed matter-of-factly, and then with a worried look on her face added, “oh, and  _ don’t  _ go anywhere, Granger--I’ll be right back out for you!” Pansy flashed a cordial smile at Hermione and tugged Ginny by the arm as the quill in her hair ended up between her teeth and she mumbled something about redheads and skin tones. 

When it was apparent that Ginny wouldn’t be back anytime soon, she found herself shrinking away even more into herself, unsure of what to say or what to do. She almost forgot that Blaise was in the room until he muttered an awkward goodbye and left her truly alone.

Hermione began to go stir-crazy sitting on the chaise by herself, and with nothing to look at but her own lonely reflection, she began to move about the room with her head extended up, studying the glass on the ceiling. She ignored the mirror bits and began to scrutinize the ostentatious chandelier as she circled it on the ground repeatedly. Something about it looked decidedly French, she deduced, and the way that it was interwoven into a tight, snowflake-like circle made her think that--

Hermione ran shoulder and hip first into a large, solid, warm mass. She didn’t even realize she had run into an actual person until she registered long, pale fingers on her elbow steadying her and smelled the scent of what was clearly a very expensive cologne. Startled, she jumped away and turned to face the person that she had accidentally accosted, only to blanch and instantly back away from the man.

Her heart raced as she took in the slender form of Draco Malfoy in shock. She hadn’t seen him, or even heard any news from him in the Prophet for--what was it, a  _ year _ now? Nearly that, at the very least. The Prophet didn’t even report that he’d gotten out of Azkaban, and he had to have been out for six or seven months at the very least. She knew this because the  _ last  _ time that she saw him in person was at the Wizengamot, where Harry and herself had testified on his behalf. He had gotten off with six months in Azkaban, a very fair sentence compared to what they planned to do to him before. There had even been brief mention of a Dementor’s Kiss; it was, of course, immediately taken off of the table as soon as Harry asked for it to be eliminated. She had never heard so much as a thank you for what they’d done, let alone an apology for everything that  _ he’d _ done. 

Apprehension coursed through her body at the sight of her former enemy and tormenter and she gulped, taking a couple of steps backward. Despite this feeling, however, she couldn’t help but notice how  _ different  _ he looked from how she remembered him in her mind.

The years had been very kind to Draco Malfoy, although Hermione was reluctant to admit it to herself. He had been exercising, clearly, because his once tall and lanky physique was now toned and strangely fit. His blonde hair was no longer slicked back, but grown out--not anywhere near as long as she remembered his father’s being, but long enough that it looked windswept in the best way. He certainly didn’t  _ look  _ like a man who had just gotten out of Azkaban, confirming her suspicions that he must have been released months ago. His face had filled out nicely, and maybe it was the nerves or the fact that she hadn’t been with a man since Ron, but he  _ was _ incredibly attractive. The only thing that was still familiar to her was his steely grey eyes; and they were watching her warily, as if he were afraid to do or say the wrong thing.

As if he hadn’t already done and said  _ all  _ of the wrong things. 

“My apologies,” he uttered out, clearly and professionally, and Hermione thought to herself that even his  _ voice  _ sounded different. More pleasant. She had to shake her head to get rid of those intrusive, unwanted thoughts. “I was quite taken with y--I mean, with the way that you were walking in circles around that chandelier,” Draco continued, daring to step a bit closer to her, although his face was turned up towards the chandelier. “It is quite fascinating, I suppose, although I fail to see why you’re so entranced by it; care to explain it to me, Granger?”

Draco still hadn’t looked away from the chandelier, hadn’t looked at her again, and it was  _ definitely  _ for the best, she decided. Her mouth was hanging agape on her face as she studied him curiously, not trusting this new, supposedly kind version of Malfoy. She couldn’t remember what the last thing that he said to her was, but she knew for a fact that it wasn’t  _ this _ polite. She was too stunned to even step away from him again, and instead, found herself studying  _ him  _ with fascination and maybe even a tiny hint of wonder. 

When she took too long to answer, Draco looked away from the chandelier, and his impassive grey eyes locked onto her brown ones. She thought that he might be trying to read her, but it was impossible to see what was beyond the grey. She swallowed a big gulp of air and looked down at her toes, avoiding his intense gaze at her. 

“Have I offended you?” She heard Draco ask, and the question was like a slap to the face. She visibly recoiled and even let out a gruntled noise of surprise. Draco’s face gave away nothing and instead, he quirked an eyebrow at her curiously.

“You mean, disregarding all of the things that you did before  _ this  _ encounter?” Hermione heard herself ask, and it was almost like having an out-of-body experience. She couldn’t quite remember commanding her brain to say the words, yet, there they were, hanging in the air between them like a bad joke. Hermione stood her ground, although all that she wanted to do was run and hide in the corner, never opening her mouth again. 

Draco nodded solemnly and gently replied, “I suppose I deserve that.” And nothing else. He turned away from her, presumably to leave, but something must have gone haywire in Hermione’s brain because she called out, “And where have you even  _ been  _ for the last six months anyway?”

Draco stiffened at her question and she had to count the several seconds that it took for him to turn around to face her again just so she wouldn’t go completely insane. There was bewilderment written all over his face and, with a side glance at the door Pansy had walked through before with Ginny, he took a deep breath and finally looked back over at Hermione.

“You want to know where I’ve been?” He asked, his tone indicating that he believed she was being disingenuous with him--as if  _ she  _ had to prove where her morals lay. 

“I think the entire Wizarding World has been curious as to where you’ve been,” Hermione admitted, painting a cool, uncaring expression on her face and wondering desperately if it worked. She wondered if the fact that she even asked the question made it sort of a moot point. Draco watched her somewhat cautiously for a moment before he stepped closer to her again, hands in his pockets and a solemn look on his face. He looked like he was about to speak when Pansy popped back into the room again, Ginny behind her.

Hermione held in a gasp when she saw Ginny. Pansy had done quite a number on her, and in such a short amount of time, too. She was wearing a deep blue dress that hugged her figure and shot straight down to the floor. Her hair was up in some kind of bun and her eyes were smoky and sultry. She looked beautiful, and somehow,  _ still _ like Ginny. 

“Wow,” Hermione muttered, giving her friend an approving smile. Ginny beamed confidently back at her and started to walk over when Pansy shot out an arm to stop her with a stern look.

“Uh-uh,” she hissed commandingly, glaring at the two girls. “I don’t think so, ladies; we’re on a  _ very  _ strict schedule here and George will cut my head off if  _ anybody  _ misses their timed entrances; especially either of  _ you  _ two!” She growled, shoving Ginny towards another hidden door.

“And what a shame that would be,” Draco teased, a sly smile working its way across his face. It was a far cry from where he just was with Hermione, and it was uncanny to watch him be so…... _ appealing  _ and suave when he spoke to Pansy versus herself.

Pansy’s head whipped around towards Draco and she grumbled in her throat, and to Hermione, it sounded very much like a warning. One that, if directed at her, she would definitely heed. Draco only scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, like a child trying to push his mother’s buttons.

Through clenched teeth, Pansy replied, “Draco Lucius Malfoy what are you still  _ doing  _ here?” 

“I was--” Draco faltered. “I saw something, and I needed to--”

“Hmm,” Pansy looked at Draco knowingly., and pink tinged Draco’s abnormally pale cheeks. Hermione had  _ never  _ seen Malfoy blush before--had never seen any sort of color or animation to his face that wasn’t a result of malicious intent--and she wondered what secret she was missing out on here. “I’m sure that you did see something, buddy. No excuses--time for you to go!” With a shriek she released Ginny and grabbed Draco by the arm, ushering him towards the door. “You were  _ supposed _ to arrive after Blaise, and now you’re going to be late--oh sod it, I’ll have you and Ginny arrive closer together, it’s the only thing to do at this point.”

Pansy shoved both of them out the door with rushed goodbyes and then when she was certain that nobody at all was coming back, she turned around hastily towards Hermione with a wild look in her eyes. Hermione jumped and her eyes widened at Pansy’s messy hair, floating all around her face in a frenzy, and her flushed cheeks. Hermione had never seen Pansy at anything less than perfect and she was…...confused, to say the least. This must be how Pansy was when she was stressed--and  _ Godric  _ did she look stressed.

“You,” Pansy huffed, pointing a prettily manicured finger at Hermione, “it is  _ your  _ turn. Come on!” Pansy gripped her arm without another word and suddenly Hermione was being whisked through the curtains into a room that smelled like roses-- _ geez _ \--and was painted in red and gold. Pansy stopped upon arrival and rolled her eyes.

“Of course the room would paint itself into Gryffindor colors for you,” she grumbled, pushing Hermione into a chair and whipping out her wand ferociously. 

“Sorry?” Hermione probed, watching warily as Pansy took her thick curls and let them slide through her fingers like silk. Her eyes were wide as she twirled and twirled Hermione’s hair, studying it as if it were an animal that were going to come alive. “Parkinson?”

Pansy seemed to snap out of it and dropped her hair with a wide smile. “I’m sorry, Granger,” she chuckled, stepping back and giving Hermione a once-over, “You just have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your hair.” Hermione suddenly became very nervous; what  _ was  _ Pansy going to do to her hair? Dye it an odd color? Shave it all off perhaps, and make her become bald? Surely George would never put her in that situation--right? He doesn’t have  _ that  _ envisioned for his show-- _ right _ ?!

“I…” Hermione trailed off, slightly angling her body away from Pansy and beginning to back away altogether. “I have no idea what you mean, Parkinson.”

“Pansy,” Pansy corrected sternly, grabbing Hermione by the arm and pulling her closer again to her. She scoffed and rolled her eyes when Hermione yelped and then whipped out her wand and touched it to Hermione’s scalp. “You can call me Pansy; it’s about time we became acquaintances, don’t you think?” Hermione wanted to tell her no, but the woman  _ did  _ have her wand pressed to her head, so she only nodded in faux agreement.

“What did you mean about my--”

“Yes, your hair,” Pansy continued, interweaving pieces of Hermione’s hair around her wand. Hermione’s rambunctious curls, repeating her pattern all over her head. “It’s actually glorious, you see; I don’t know anybody else on planet Earth who has curls like yours. Drives men and women mad; for differing reasons, most of the time. Regardless, I’m jealous of your curls Granger.” Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock and gave Pansy an incredulous look.  _ Parkinson _ , the bloody pageant queen looking thing, was jealous of  _ her _ ? Now she was certain that she was being fooled and something horrible was about to happen to her. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione argued with a shake of her head. Pansy hissed at her and held her head still with a glare as Hermione continued, “Jealous of me? What for? MY hair? You do realize that you made fun of me for this  _ very same hair  _ Pansy, don’t you? This hair is the actual bane of my existence.”

“Oh don’t be so damn dramatic,” Pansy reprimanded, standing back to admire her work on Hermione’s hair with a slight smirk. “I made fun of you  _ because  _ I was jealous. Merlin’s beard, you are oblivious sometimes Granger.”

“Hermione,” Hermione countered and Pansy raised an eyebrow. “If I should call you Pansy, you should call me Hermione.” Pansy seemed to mull it over and nodded, even while she was pinching and prodding at Hermione’s waist.

“That’s fair,” Pansy conceded, “Hermione it is. So, Hermione, what brings you on the show? Are you trying to win Ron back?” There was a strange tone to Pansy’s voice that Hermione couldn’t quite read, but the girl’s face was completely impassive.

“No,” Hermione answered reluctantly, still eyeing Pansy with suspicion. “First of all, let’s get this straight--I don’t even want to be on this stupid show. Ginny signed me up behind my back and I had no way to get out of it.”  _ No way to get out of it that wouldn’t offend  _ you _ , at least. _ “Secondly, you couldn’t pay me enough to get back together with Ron Weasley, and I’m certain that he would say the same about me. My intention is to fly under the radar, not get offered anybody’s rose, and go home. I’m sure that it won’t be hard to do, given the fact that nobody but Ron has been interested in me in, well,  _ ever  _ actually.” Pansy scoffed and began measuring Hermione’s legs, her quill taking notes for her as she went. 

“Alright  _ Moaning Myrtle _ ,” Pansy replied, “Glad to see you finally left that bathroom;  _ not  _ glad to see you took the moping with you.” Hermione grunted in disapproval and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. ”Seriously, Hermione, you’ve got  _ everything _ . You saved the Wizarding World, you’re gorgeous, you have great hair, you could have any job that you want, everybody listens to you, you wear what looks like--a C cup?  _ Seriously _ ?  _ Wow _ \--but honestly, what more could you  _ possibly  _ want or need?” Pansy asked, whipping her tape measure back into place and standing back to properly glare at Hermione. “You have absolutely  _ no  _ reason to hate yourself  _ this  _ much--”

“Does one need a reason to sometimes not like themselves?” Hermione blurted out. She immediately regretted it, and by the shocked look on Pansy’s face, she had definitely said far too much. “I mean--it’s not all that great. Not for me, at least. Ron and Harry, well, they have plenty of admirers, but it seems that fame stopped with them. Not that I need, or even particularly  _ want  _ that fame you know, but…” Hermione stopped, unsure of how to continue. “My boss hates me. Helga Beaufort. And all of my colleagues do too, and I don’t know, three years ago maybe I wouldn’t have cared but something happened in those three years and I just--I care, okay? I don’t like myself. Do I have to like myself all of the time?” Hermione breathed and shut her eyes quickly, embarrassed. She let herself have a moment and when she opened her eyes again, Pansy gave her a sad smile.

“I think you should like yourself,” she answered quietly, conjuring a large dress bag into her hands. “Perhaps you’ll learn to again soon.” Hermione couldn’t answer; she just stared at her feet in shame. “For the record, Helga Beaufort’s a jealous bint who never got past an A cup.” 

Hermione laughed and realized that Pansy had actually made her  _ feel  _ a little bit better. Puzzled by this, she decided not to think about it too hard. There was only so much that she could take today, after all. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Hermione concluded with a shake of her head. Pansy shrugged.

“I know,” she answered, “I was just hoping you would see how ridiculous you sound.” When Hermione still didn’t answer, Pansy said, “Okay, then. Let’s get you in your first appearance dress; your ride to the Manor will be here soon and you  _ definitely  _ cannot be late. I swear on Merlin’s grave if Draco delayed us at  _ all _ …”

Pansy unzipped the bag and a shimmering gold ball gown flooded out, almost blinding Hermione with how bright it was. Pansy ordered her to get undressed and she did, hurriedly stepping into the opening of her dress as Pansy tied her in and hurriedly did her makeup the Muggle way. Hermione was shocked at how fast she had gotten things done, and when Pansy beamed at her, she knew she must have worked some  _ real  _ magic.

“Are you ready to see?” She asked her, the excitement on her face palpable enough for another world over to catch on. Hermione stifled a giggle and just nodded, embarrassed to admit that she was actually a little bit excited to see what Pansy had done. Pansy turned her around to face a large mirror and Hermione blinked back at her reflection, confused.

Pansy had somewhat tamed her curls, but they were still there cascading down her back and flowing down to her waist. The gown was beautiful; it was tight against her body and had short sleeves with a V-neck that did wonders for her cleavage. Complete with a slit on her right thigh, it hung looser towards the bottom and made her figure look quite elegant. Her makeup, however, was not exactly what she had expected. It was very minimal, only doing things to accentuate features that were already there; shimmering, but nude eyeshadow that brought out her caramel eyes, lipstick that accentuated her lip shape. She turned back around to Pansy, perplexed.

“But I look like me,” Hermione simply said, cocking her head to one side in confusion. Pansy only beamed at her and gripped her shoulders in her hands, looking her intensely in the eyes.

“Hermione,” she sighed, then with a wide smile that reached her eyes, crinkling the edges of her eyelids, she said, “that’s the best part.” Hermione’s stomach churned and something in her wanted to cry; she felt ridiculous. One person gives her a compliment, and she’s practically moved to tears? She wanted to thank Pansy, for helping her feel authentically beautiful.  _ Godric _ ,  _ give me a break _ ! 

“I love the dress,” Hermione chose to say instead, swishing around to make the bottom move. Pansy gave her a knowing, appreciative look and gestured towards the entrance.

“It’s time for us to get moving,” she informed, pushing Hermione out the door and back into the large mirrored room. “George wanted everybody to arrive by limo just like in the show, and have all of the contestants there try to guess who was coming out of it; you’re not supposed to know a single person that will be there yet, but Draco, bless his damn heart, just  _ had  _ to stick around… anyway, just pretend you had no idea he’ll be there. You’re the last to arrive, anyway.”

“I’m the last one?” Hermione hissed. She  _ hated  _ the idea of that. “But--why? Surely there was somebody else that they could have saved for the very last reveal,” Hermione reasoned, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Pansy laughed at her but, Hermione noted, there wasn’t a single hint of malice to it--just mild amusement.

“No way,” Pansy argued, leading her outside where they stopped at an Apparition point. “You’re a hot commodity, Hermione-- _ everybody  _ is hoping to see you there.” At that, Pansy took her hand and she apparated them to a desolated Muggle-looking street, where a long black limo awaited them. “There’s your chariot, Princess.”

“Wait--you aren’t coming with me?” Hermione asked desperately, practically begging Pansy to hop into the limo with her. Pansy scrunched her nose in amusement and simply shook her head.

“Nope,” she answered, popping the “P” enthusiastically. She opened the limo door for Hermione and began shoving her in. “I’m not a contestant; besides, who am I to steal your thunder? Now, off you go Golden Girl!” Pansy slammed the door behind her and waved her off enthusiastically, yelling orders at the limo driver to “just  _ go  _ already!!” The limo driver began to pull away and Pansy winked at Hermione, watching the limo as it rolled away. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking, as there was an intense yet unreadable expression on her face.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione jumped and knocked her elbow into the limo door swiveling around to find the voice. It was Angelina Johnson, George’s on again and off again girlfriend, and she was currently trying  _ very  _ hard not to laugh at Hermione. Hermione grimaced at her and scooted farther away from the door, holding her elbow gingerly. Angelina watched her warily for a moment before pulling out some papers.

“Miss Granger, this is the contract that you signed before the show,” she began, her head tilted haughtily.  _ Well, I suppose that’s one way to say hello _ . “I’m here to remind you of the terms that you agreed to; are you ready to hear them?”

“Seeing as I never  _ technically agreed _ to them, I’d love to hear them now,” Hermione shot back, slumping in her seat in protest. Angelina only raised an eyebrow, sighed, and began reading.

“To reiterate, these rules have  _ already  _ been agreed to and  _ must  _ be followed. Failure to follow the rules will result in an automatic expulsion from the show and an agreement to work behind the scenes under Ms. Parkinson; do you understand, Miss Granger?” Hermione scoffed at her statement, annoyed that Angelina was talking to her like they  _ didn’t  _ gossip at the Burrow every now and again. When she and George were on again and she was actually  _ invited _ , that is.

“Yes, perfectly,” Hermione replied through gritted teeth, “Now what are the rules?” If there was one thing that she was confident she would do well at, it was keeping to the rules. She loved rules; they kept the world they lived in balanced. Sure, she’d broken her fair share from time to time, but the boys weren’t around to convince her to break any here. Well, Ron  _ was  _ around but she had a feeling that he wouldn’t be convincing her to break any rules any time soon.

“Rule number one,” Angelina stated, very matter-of-factual. Hermione tried not to laugh; she knew Angelina well, and this was  _ not  _ her type of thing. She must really like George to be willing to do this for him.  _ Those Weasley boys are something else _ , Hermione thought, and not necessarily in a good way. “You hereby agree to be filmed at the manor every hour of every day, or 24/7, during your duration on the show. The cameras will never film any sexual encounters and explicit content will be alluded to, but never be shown on TV.”

“Awesome.” Hermione doubted they’d have a problem with her on that one.

“Two: All of the outfits on the show will be designed by Ms. Pansy Parkinson. You may never choose your own outfit or wear anything from home. This is to keep the image of the show the way we’d like it to look.”

“Right,” Hermione answered stiffly with a roll of her eyes.  _ Well, at least  _ this  _ dress isn’t half bad. And it’s not like I’ll be here long anyway; soon enough I’ll be back to jeans and comfy shirts. And no more incredibly tall heels. Merlin, who does Pansy think I am anyways?  _

“Number three: Contestants may not owl home or have any contact with the outside world during the time on the show. This is very important in order to keep the drama and suspense from leaking to the press early; are we clear?” Angelina was giving Hermione a look of death, as if she were certain that Hermione was about to jump out of this limo and hit up Rita Skeeter with some juicy information.

“I don’t know,” Hermione toyed with her, staring her down defiantly. “Rita and I are pretty close--might be a hard one to keep.” Angelina narrowed her eyes further at Hermione and Hermione only shrugged, a smirk making its way across her mouth.

“Good,” Angelina responded, clearly choosing to take Hermione’s jibe as compliance. “Rule four: sexual relations are highly discouraged between contestants until we enter the month of December, when new people are no longer brought in and you must be in a committed relationship to continue on with the show until New Year’s Day,” Angelina stated.

“Not a problem--”

“However, should rexual relations occur before that time, we reserve the right to air the gossip on the show without showing the actual sexual encounter,” Angelina finished. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Hermione agreed. “Now, is that all?”

“There’s just one more rule,” Angelina answered, flicking her eyes outside the window. It was then that Hermione noticed the Manor in the distance, though not as far away as she thought that they were. Hermione’s stomach was suddenly a bundle of nerves and she had a strong urge to push the limo door open and run back to her flat like her life depended on it. “Contestants on the show  _ must  _ be single and have no relationships outside of the show, and absolutely  _ no  _ pending engagements or talks of any engagements in the works.”

“I’m not a Pureblood, Angelina,” Hermione simply replied. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of the Manor--the most notorious Pureblood house in history--and she felt as though she may vomit. “I don’t have any engagements in the works, or any talks of--whatever. George already knows this.”

“Just protocol,” Angelina responded as the limo came to a stop. They sat there in silence for a while before Angelina finally looked up from her paperwork, confused, and said, “aren’t you going to get out?”

“Oh,” Hermione yelped quietly, setting her hand on the door handle but not  _ quite  _ committing to opening it. “Aren’t you, um, coming with me?”

“Nope,” Angelina promptly responded, and for the first time since she’d seen Hermione, she gave her a genuine, kind smile. “It’s not  _ me _ that everybody’s waiting for; for once in your life Hermione, this is  _ your _ time. Embrace it.” Hermione opened the door hesitantly and Angelina proceeded to give Hermione a gentle nudge through the limo door, shutting it promptly behind her. The limo driver pulled away quite fast, and Hermione was certain that Angelina told him to floor it just in case she decided to hop back in.

And then Hermione was just outside the gates of the Manor; she had never actually  _ seen  _ the entrance itself, seeing as the first time that she came here wasn’t quite as joyous an occasion. They were definitely grandiose, and they looked new, as well. Harry wasn’t kidding when he said they’d renovated  _ everything _ , she supposed. Just as her anxiety threatened to take the best of her, the gates swung open slowly, beckoning her to step inside. If it weren’t for George standing at the end of the walkaway with a  _ slightly  _ terrifyingly threatening smile on his face, Hermione would have run the other way.

_ Stupid magically binding contracts! I swear, I could absolutely murder-- _

“Hermione,” George greeted, and she swore, she hadn’t even known she began moving towards him at all, but there she was in front of him. And in front of the Manor’s front doors. George brought her in for a hug and she awkwardly returned it. “You look beautiful; welcome to George Weasley’s Most Eligible.” 

Um,” Hermione looked around, but she truly didn’t recognize  _ anything _ . Every bit of the place had changed. “Thank you?” George laughed at her hesitation and if Hermione didn’t know him fairly well, she wouldn’t have even noticed how nervous he was. She wondered if he was scared that she were to run away any second.

She was seriously considering it.

“I have to warn you, your ex-fiance Ron is here,” George cautioned and Hermione cocked an eyebrow, confused. She knew that  _ he  _ knew that she was well aware of that fact. However, as she studied the expression on George’s face again, she caught the glint in his eye; the  _ audience  _ didn’t know that she knew. He wanted her to play along--not enough to be harmful, but enough to set the stage for a little bit of suspense. Okay, fine, she could play dumb. Beated working with Parkinson.

“I’m not here to win Ron back,” Hermione adamantly denied. 

“So, if Ron happens to make a connection with another woman here, or even gets engaged at the end of this--”

“Then I will be happy for him,” Hermione interrupted. She may be being filmed, but she was going to be as honest as she could. Make the least amount of drama possible; maybe then George won’t even want her on the show and he’d just  _ let  _ her go home.

“And what about you?” George pressed. Hermione raised an eyebrow questioningly and he clarified, “what if you fall in love here, Hermione? Do you see yourself getting engaged at the end of this?” Hermione let herself think about the question.  _ Did _ she see herself getting engaged at the end of this? No, that would be ridiculous. Would she be opposed if she were to actually be interested in somebody? Well, no, but she quite frankly didn’t see that happening here. Her storyline on the show, unfortunately for George, would be quite short.

“I guess we’ll see,” Hermione answered cryptically, and by the wide smile that sprung onto George’s face, it was clearly the right thing to say. 

“Well, you’re the last one to arrive,” he commented, offering her his arm. “Can I escort you through the doors?” Hermione didn’t answer him, but she numbly took his arm and the doors opened before them. She vaguely recalled that she was on camera, but she couldn’t find the cameras anywhere. George truly had done a wonderful job of making them feel like their every move wasn’t being filmed.

He escorted her around hallways and up a large flight of stairs, stopping before a large set of grand, maroon colored doors. Hermione took in a deep breath and Geore beamed at her.

“Off you go, Golden Girl.” He continued smiling before throwing the doors open. “Good luck.”

Hermione took in the scene before her; it was a lounge type area with many things going on all at once. She saw Neville and Dean Thomas playing Exploding Snap in one corner; in the other corner, a group of former Slytherins were congregating, looking quite sullen. She could faintly make out Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and Millicent Bulstrode. She noted that Draco was nowhere to be found, and then suddenly wondered why she even  _ cared _ .

“Hermione!” Ginny’s arms went around her friend as if she hadn’t been with her just an hour ago. “You look--well, I mean, you look--”

“Beautiful,” a familiar voice cut in. Hermione startled and immediately turned red when she saw the figure of her former interest, and then later one night stand, Cormac McLaggen. He expanded his arms in a polite hug and Hermione suddenly wished that she were  _ anywhere  _ else. She shot Ginny a panicked look and Ginny quickly stepped closer to Hermione, making any more physical contact quite difficult. “I was really hoping to see you here.”

It hit her then; somebody wanting to rekindle an old flame? George had meant  _ Cormac _ ! Gah, Hermione wanted to gag just at the mere thought of rekindling  _ anything  _ with him. 

“Oh,” Hermione responded, “Well--um,”

“Granger!” Blaise’s voice floated over to Hermione and suddenly she was being pulled away from Cormac and into another hug with Blaize Zabini.

_ What in the actual hell? _

“Sorry McLaggen, but I actually need to borrow Hermione for a moment,” Blaise excused himself, settling Hermione’s hand into the crook of his arm. “We work together at the Ministry you see, and I desperately need to ask her a question about work before she does anything else.” Blaise was ignoring the completely perplexed look on Hermione’s face. “I’ll bring her right back--I swear on the Malfoy fortune!”

“Oh, but--” Cormac began to say, but Hermione didn’t get to hear the rest of his sentence because she was suddenly being whisked away very quickly.

“Blaise, we don’t work together?” 

Blaise chuckled at her and beckoned for her to sit with him at the bar. She did,  _ hesitantly _ , and gave him a look that most certainly demanded answers. 

“Granger, I  _ know  _ that;  _ you  _ know that,  _ Weaslette  _ over there knows that,  _ everybody knows that. _ But poor old McLaggen back there? He’s got no damn clue. Kid only wants to see the inside of your dress again, Granger,” Blaise finished, snapping his fingers to the bartender, who had his back turned to them. Hermione shook her head quizzically and eagerly took the drink without even a second glance to the bartender.

“But when why did you-- _ wait _ !” She screeched. “ _ Again?  _ What the hell do you mean  _ again _ ? And how do you know--”

“That you and McLaggen slept together?” Blaise finished, a smirk gracing his fine features. “The entire  _ room  _ knows by now, Hermione.  _ ‘I totally shagged her last year, right after her and Weasley ended things! Said I was the best she ever had--even better than Ron--’” _

“I said nothing of the sort!” Hermione hissed, anger bubbling inside of her. She took another large swig of her drink and Blaise chuckled once again. “And besides, he’s definitely  _ not  _ better than Ron--”

“Ah, so he’s good then?” Blaise questioned, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk at the corners of his lips. Hermione paused.

“What?”

“Weasley; he’s good in the sack, eh?” Hermione’s face heated up and she knew that her cheeks were bright red. 

“Well he, um, I mean--”

“Relax, Granger,” Blaise laughed, giving her a warmer smile this time. “I’m just joking around. We all know McLaggen’s a huge knob.” Hermione nodded and groaned, downing the last of her drink.

“I need another one,” she announced and turned to the bartender, who, she just realized, was Theodore Nott. “Oh,” Hermione acknowledged. “Nott--hello.”

“You should probably slow down on the drinks, Granger,” Nott said, even as he took her cup to refill it. “Don’t want Skeeter printing that you’re an alcoholic next.” As condescending as he sounded, he  _ was  _ right. Hermione took the drink back from him and started sipping a little bit more gingerly this time around.

“Are you one of the contestant’s too, then?” Hermione asked, wrapping her freshly manicured nails around her glass. Blaise and Theo shared an amused look before Blaise burst out laughing, and Hermione felt again as if she was the butt of some joke. “What?” She demanded. She’d had enough stress today, and if they were going to be indecent enough to  _ laugh  _ at her, they’d better give her a damn reason why.

“No, Granger, George hired me on as the bartender and unofficial therapist,” Nott answered, an amused smile pricking his lips. 

“Well, what was so unreasonable about my question, then--you are an eligible bachelor, are you not?”

Blaise lost it.

“Granger,” Theo responded carefully, leaning his elbows across the bar and taking her hand in his. She recoiled instantly, causing Blaise to continue guffawing and Theo to roll his eyes. “You  _ do  _ realize that this is a show about  _ men  _ dating  _ women _ \--correct?”

“Yes?” Hermione answered. She was unsure of where he was going with this and she watched him with furrowed brows and cautious eyes. 

“Well, let’s just say that if I had it  _ my  _ way, Granger, we needn’t involve the  _ women _ .”

Oh.

_ Oh! _

“Oh, Godric,” Hermione covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Yes, I um, I got it now.” Blaise’s laughs finally slowed down and he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Thanks Granger, I truly needed that,” he chuckled, winking at Theo who rolled his eyes again.

“Besides Granger, I’m already seeing somebody,” Theo continued on, ignoring Blaise. Hermione perked up a little at this and asked, “Oh really--you don’t say! Well, um, who is it?” Even Blaise looked intrigued and Theo beckoned with his finger for them to lean in closer.

“Well, you might know him quite well actually, Granger,” he admitted cheekily, a dimple appearing on one cheek. “Tall, dark, handsome--quite the Quidditch player, especially considering he’s from Bulgaria--”

“Nott, you are  _ not  _ telling me that Viktor Krum--the only male who was actually  _ genuinely  _ interested in me  _ ever _ , is  _ gay _ ?” Hermione squealed, feeling sick to her stomach; had  _ any  _ man actually had a romantic interest in her? Even just a single one?!

Theo burst into tears with laughter and said, “Oh  _ hell  _ no Granger, that man is as straight as a damn wand--but you should have seen your  _ face _ !” Blaise laughed along with him and Hermione felt her face heat up in sheer embarrassment. 

“This is why I don’t hangout with Slytherin’s,” Hermione grumbled, embarrassedly hiding her head in her hands. She peeked through her fingers and the boys shared another look, although it was one that Hermione couldn’t quite decipher. When the silence got too heavy and too long, she cleared her throat and said, “So who else  _ is  _ here as a contestant, then?”

“Well you and the Weaslette,” Theo started, “Uh, McLaggen, Longbottom, Lovegood, Hannah Abbott--her and Longbottom have been together for most of the evening--Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Dean Thomas, Romilda Vane--” Hermione turned up her lip in disgust. “Millie, Daphne, Blaise here, the  _ infamous  _ Draco Malfoy, and oh--Ron and some blonde have been snogging  _ everywhere  _ all night . Quite disgusting, if you ask me.”

Oh, shit,” Blaise suddenly blanched and then hurriedly turned towards Hermione, “Granger, I should’ve immediately told you--”

“Well, if it isn’t my little subordinate!” A high-pitched, all too familiar voice chimed in Hermione’s ears. Hermione’s blood ran cold, Blaise closed his eyes and muttered an incoherent “ _ shit!”  _ into the air, and suddenly, a tiny pale hand was squeezing Hermione’s shoulder.

Helga Beaufort was suddenly standing right behind her, a pseudo-smile sitting across her face. Hermione suddenly felt like throwing up all over again.

“I really didn’t think that I would see you here!” Helga gushed, twirling a curl of Hermione’s in between her fingers nastily. Both of the boys looked at her with concern. “Oh, no--you’re not here for  _ Ron _ , are you? Because, unfortunately, I’ve sort of been claiming him all night if you know what I mean--”

Hermione pushed off of her seat from the bar and tried to move around her boss, who was giggling.

“Excuse me,” she said pathetically, “I really need to use the loo now, so, if you’d kindly move--”

“Oh, dear,” Helga stifled a laugh. “Well, I suppose Pansy tried her  _ best  _ to make you look decent--”

“Hey,” Blaise growled threateningly, throwing Helga off guard. “There’s no need for that.” Taking advantage of the woman’s shock, Hermione scurried away from the bar. She heard a drink fall off of the counter but she didn’t look back to see if it had shattered. She was just about to the other corner of the room, and she couldn’t find a damn  _ door _ . Not a single way out--

_ Oof _ . She ran right into somebody--somebody that felt oddly familiar from this angle. As steady hands gripped her elbows, she was once again looking into the steely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy--and he was looking at her like he was  _ concerned.  _ About  _ her _ .

“Granger,” he cautiously spoke, “Are you--”

“I need you to get me out of here,” she replied quickly. “I just--I need a minute. I need to be out of this room for just a minute.” Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly, and after studying her face for what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.

“Follow me,” he ordered kindly, putting a hand on the small of her back and quickly leading her through a maze of curtains. They reached a small, intimate looking door and he turned her around to face him. Something about the gesture made her stomach flip anxiously, and he was looking at her worriedly with those  _ eyes  _ of his. “Listen, Granger, this is the only place that I know of that there won’t be any cameras, but you should be warned that--”

“I don’t care, Malfoy,” Hermione answered hurriedly, just wanting to finally be alone. “I don’t care if it’s your childhood bedroom or the elve’s quarters--”

“No, Granger, just  _ listen-- _ ”

“I don’t care!” Hermione hissed, yanking her hand out of his and throwing open the door. She just barely saw his wince as she shut it harshly behind her. Once she was certain that he wasn’t going to try to get in, she leaned her forehead against the door and began to sob. It wasn’t as if she  _ cared  _ that Ron dated, or even  _ who  _ he dated. Because she didn’t; truly, she  _ wanted  _ Ron to date and find love, and to be happy again. But the fact that he would date  _ her _ , the woman who he  _ knew  _ treated her like absolute  _ garbage-- _

“Miss Granger?” A tender voice said from behind her, and Hermione yelped loudly, clamping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Shamefully, she turned around slowly, only to be face-to-face with Narcissa Malfoy.

She should’ve listened to Draco. 


	3. Never Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK!  
> Truly sorry for the wait--and thankful for those who are sticking around! We had a lot going on with the holidays, my daughter got sick a couple of times, I played Detroit Become Human and am still obsessing over that--so yeah, a lot.  
> Apologies if my British slang is weird. I'm embarrassingly American.  
> Any errors are totally my fault. I often only have time to write in the middle of the night and on my phone--not the greatest combination!  
> Also, I will be starting a DBH Connor/reader fic if anybody is into that. This will still take priority. 
> 
> Follow me on Instagram--I follow back. yellowroses_ra9
> 
> I live for an overly pining Draco (;

NARCISSA was looking at Hermione warily, but once she saw her tear-stained face, her own face softened and she reached out a hand to her. Hermione backed up, confused, and Narcissa’s hand--and face--dropped. Hermione immediately felt guilty, although she didn’t know why she particularly cared  _ if  _ she offended her. For all she knew, her very  _ existence  _ was offensive to Narcissa Malfoy. It certainly was, once.

“I’m very sorry,” Hermione apologized, hastily wiping the tears from her eyes. “I didn’t know--” she turned towards the door to leave but Narcissa reached a hand out and grabbed her by the arm. Something about the look on her face was…...strangely inviting.

“Dear, please wait just a moment,” she pleaded, and Hermione dared herself to meet Narcissa’s warm, brown eyes. “Would you like to talk about it? I do have tea, dear.”

“Oh, no, that’s perfectly okay,” Hermione answered, giving her an unconfident smile. “I feel much better now, and I should really go--”

“Harry quite likes my tea,” Narcissa interjected, halfway across the room and brewing a pot. It was a ploy, Hermione knew, but it was a damn good one and she was intrigued. She let her hand drop off of the doorknob and turned to face Narcissa fully, a look of questioning wonder across her face.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, bewildered. “Harry Potter?” Narcissa only gave her a kind smile and nodded to a nearby seat. Hermione was too curious to leave now, so she gathered up her dress in her hands and took a seat as Narcissa handed her a steaming cup of tea. She took a seat across from Hermione and both women gingerly sipped for a while before the Lady of the House decided to speak.

“Harry visits me quite often,” she supplied the information Hermione had wanted, watching her face cautiously. “Ever since the two of you spoke at mine and Draco’s trials, he’s come to see me every once in a while. He wanted to mend some bridges--make sure that the two of us never got lonely.”

“That does sound an awful lot like Harry,” Hermione admitted sheepishly, warming her hands on her cup. “I just--I’m sorry, but Harry’s really never mentioned it before. I had no idea.” She made a mental note to grill Harry--and possibly Ginny--about this later as she was still unconvinced that Narcissa was telling her the truth.

“Well, I didn't expect him to,” Narcissa answered with a wave of her hand. “Draco didn’t think it would be good to advertise that Harry and him were friends, you know.” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline; Harry occasionally visiting Narcissa because he felt bad, she could believe. But him and Draco being friends? Well, that was unbelievable. Simply impossible, really.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Hermione questioned, desperately trying to find a hole in Narcissa’s story, “Wouldn’t that be good for Draco, I mean? Being friends with Harry Potter? Certainly that would do wonders for his reputation.”

“You misunderstand,” Narcissa corrected, “Draco felt that it wouldn't be in  _ Harry’s  _ best interests.” Now she was certain that she was listening to a story; some sick kind of concoction that Narcissa was spinning to make them look good again. Get back into the good grace’s of the world and not be shunned anymore. Hermione was  _ certain  _ of it.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, “but I have a very hard time believing that Draco would have anybody’s best interests at heart but his own.” Narcissa’s face remained impassive; and, as she moved her teacup up to her lips, she nodded.

“I suppose that that’s fair,” she acknowledged before taking a sip of her tea and setting the empty cup down on her saucer. “Now, dear, would you like to talk about what’s upsetting you? Like I said earlier, I don’t really get much company these days and if you also just so happen to need somebody to listen……”

“Well,” Hermione interjected, “I--I don’t know.”

“I assure you dear, nothing you say here will ever leave this room,” Narcissa promised and Hermione couldn’t help but feel as if she were being serious. “And even if my intentions weren’t pure, nobody would believe me anyway. Nobody would even want to  _ listen  _ to what I had to say--so, as you can see, your thoughts are perfectly safe with me.”

Hermione considered it; on the one hand, Narcissa made a fairly good point. Hermione doubted that the two of them had many visitors--and before Narcissa mentioned Harry, she had doubted that they had  _ any _ \--and with the way that Skeeter wrote about them in the paper, she doubted that anybody at all wanted anything to do with the Malfoy’s. Including--no,  _ especially _ \--other Purebloods.

On the other hand, she  _ was  _ who she was, and Hermione already learned not to trust a Malfoy. And she learned the  _ hard  _ way. She had been so adamant sixth year that Draco, while a complete prick, couldn’t have been up to something so evil like Harry had insisted. She had ended up being wrong, of course, but everybody already knew  _ that  _ story. But the point being, she had  _ defended _ him. And for what? To be utterly hurt and betrayed? She’d had a soft spot for Draco, despite how incorrigible he was, because she was a damn  _ girl _ and had clearly read too many romance novels.

There was a time where she thought that he might have had sort of a soft spot for her, too, but clearly she was wrong. Still, she could sometimes see that moment in her mind……

Despite all that, as she searched Narcissa’s face, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being genuine with her. And hey--if she wasn’t, what did she  _ really  _ have to lose anyway? Could there be some petty gossip in the papers? Sure, there could be, but what else was new? There wasn’t anything that Narcissa could tell them that they hadn’t already  _ printed _ . Bloody hell, they’ve printed  _ worse _ ! 

“It’s Ron,” Hermione finally answered, deciding once and for all to vent her feelings. “He--well, he seems to have made a love connection with my boss.” For some reason, that was all that her mind could say and she choked back another embarrassing sob.

“And this upsets you,” Narcissa started slowly, “because you love him?” Hermione shook her head vigorously and Narcissa pursed her lips in confusion.

“Merlin,  _ no _ ,” Hermione forcefully denied, crinkling up her nose in apparent disgust. “Not that there's anything wrong with Ron, mind you--and I did love him once--but I could never fall in love with  _ him _ again. We just--we’re different, and I know that it’s good to be a little bit different in a relationship, but I’m  _ too _ different for Ron. I’m not what he wanted and--well, looking back, I only really dated him because I thought he was my only option. And he was my best friend, and we got along. So why not, right?” At Narcissa’s small smile, Hermione blushed in embarrassment. “Oh geez, well I’m only babbling now, aren’t I?”

“No, that’s okay,” Narcissa encouraged eagerly, “I’m listening.” And so Hermione gave a shy sort of smile and continued on.

“Well, as I was saying, I don’t love Ron,” Hermione summarized. “But the reason I’m upset is, well, my boss--she’s sort of awful. She’s hated me ever since I got put into her department years ago, and her and the other women…they’re not so kind to me, all the time.. And well, Ron knows that and he still--I mean, Ron and I may have ended things but we’re  _ still _ best friends--and he’s choosing to see her here anyways. It’s hurtful that somebody that I call my best friend is so willing to be around somebody, let alone  _ date  _ somebody, who treats me so poorly.” Hermione finally took a breath and let her shoulders relax; she could have cared less  _ who  _ she was talking to because she suddenly felt lighter even just voicing her feelings.

She hadn’t done that in too long of a time, she realized.  _ Much _ too long.

Narcissa seemed to be deep in thought, studying Hermione’s face. Finally, she said, “these girls at work. What kind of things do they do to you, exactly?” Hermione squirmed uncomfortably at the question; she suddenly felt like a young schoolgirl telling on her childhood bullies to her principal. It made her quite edgy, and she suddenly wanted to take everything back out of fear for the consequences. She took a hesitant breath and Narcissa smiled at her then--an inviting, warm, and genuine smile--before slightly nodding. All of it was incredibly encouraging to Hermione--and all of a sudden, she wanted to keep talking. She wanted-no, she  _ craved _ \--somebody to listen to her side of the story for once.

“Well,” she sighed, absentmindedly twirling a curl around her index finger over and over again. “They laugh at me. And joke about my love life and my failed engagement to Ron. And make fun of my Muggle clothing. And my hair. Sometimes they withhold funding from my projects and give it to somebody else.”

Narcissa’s teacup slammed loudly onto her coaster and Hermione jumped. She broke out of her reverie and looked up to find an unnerving stoic expression on her face, although her tea had spilled and her hands were clenched. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, eyeing Narcissa’s clenched hand nervously. Narcissa blinked away the glaze in her eyes and shook her head.

“Yes, dear, I’m sorry,” she apologized, materializing a napkin and using it to wipe up her spilled tea. “I just got a tad upset with your story, that’s all.” Hermione was confused; what had she said that had upset the Lady Malfoy? Perhaps it was her mentioning of her projects? She did want to end house elf suffrage, and maybe that idea drove her mad. She suddenly regretted saying anything at all and hastily got up from her seat, startling Narcissa. 

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, although she wasn’t quite. “I didn’t mean to make you at all uncomfortable--”

“Miss Granger, please,” Narcissa pleaded, out of her seat and placing a hand atop Hermione’s. “ _ You  _ haven’t upset me in the slightest; your story, however, is quite upsetting. Does Kingsley know how these women treat you?” Hermione cocked her head and studied Narcissa in confusion. 

“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” she finally answered, shrugging her hand slowly out of Narcissa’s. “I don’t really see him much anymore.”

“But you have made a complaint against them, yes?”

A complaint? Hermione hadn’t even thought to make a complaint against them. As much as they drove her insane sometimes, they were just petty women. 

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted sheepishly, suddenly wondering why she  _ hadn’t  _ made a complaint against them. “They’re just harmless, really. Petty and harmless.” Narcissa eyed her warily until finally, her eyes turned stony and Hermione could see anger swirling underneath the woman’s brown orbs. 

“Cutting funding for your projects is hardly  _ harmless _ ,” she sneered, and Hermione felt vaguely threatened. If that anger had been directed at  _ her,  _ she’d certainly be a little bit afraid. Really afraid, actually. Narcissa’s face suddenly turned friendly again and she coaxed Hermione back into her seat. “Hermione—may I call you Hermione, dear?”

“What?” Hermione questioned, and then shook herself back into the present moment. “Er, yes. Yes of course you can.” Narcissa gave a tiny, triumphant smile and leaned forward from her seat in a way that suggested whatever she was about to say was meant to be listened to. Hermione briefly wondered how one could command attention in such a way, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of her. 

“Hermione,” Narcissa continued. “While I agree with you that these women, especially your boss, are incredibly  _ petty _ , the way that they are treating you is  _ not  _ harmless. I mean—no offense dear—but look at you! This woman has you running into a back room in tears like you don’t know everything that you are!”

“Everything...that I... am?” Hermione questioned, a swirl of unidentifiable—yet familiar, hidden— emotions threatening to pound their way out of her chest and spill all over her dress. 

Narcissa seemed to notice that she was getting somewhere so she braved taking Hermione’s hand once again and clutching it firmly, much like Ginny would do in a moment of epiphany. 

“To be quite blunt, dear, do you not know that you saved the entire Wizarding World?” Narcissa questioned, a tiny, incredulous laugh tacked onto the end of her sentence. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably. 

“Well—to be fair,  _ Harry  _ did that—“

“Let’s not dance around what you did, Hermione,” Narcissa interrupted with a wave of her hand. “I love Harry like my own son, but even he knows without you he wouldn’t have succeeded. Darling,  _ everybody  _ knows that.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to question her statement about loving Harry like her own son—because  _ honestly _ —but Narcissa shot her a look that let her know she was  _ not  _ finished. 

“You’re a brilliant witch, Hermione. Harry and Draco have  _ both  _ told me enough about you that there’s no use in you arguing it with me. I know about everything you did in the war, I know about your passion and your drive for helping Muggleborns and your affinity for other magical creatures. You intend to make the world a better place—and yet, you’ve let one insignificant woman completely ruin you. Why?”

Hermione was speechless; she felt like she had been slapped awake from a very deep sleep. She _did_ do all of those things. She _was_ that person—where the hell has that person _been_?

“I suppose—“ Hermione stopped to think about it some more. “When Ron didn’t want me, when my best friend who knew every part of me  _ still  _ didn’t want me and then nobody else did either—I forgot.” The room was silent except for the booming confession floating around it. Narcissa gave Hermione a kind—if not  _ smug _ —smile, and had released her hand. 

“One day, dear, you’re going to realize  _ exactly  _ who you are. I only hope that you don’t lose any more of yourself on the way.”

Narcissa’s words stung; had she really lost so much of herself? Was it that plain for anybody to see? Hermione gripped the edge of her seat tight and felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as the reality of what she had been letting that woman do to her settled over her body. 

She was angry; at herself sure, but also with Ron and with Helga. The only problem was—she had no idea what to  _ do  _ with that anger. 

“We should probably be getting you back, dear,” Narcissa interrupted much quieter than before. Hermione looked up anxiously from her seat and nodded, wringing her hands and surprising herself when she turned back towards Narcissa.

“Could I—I mean, if it’s not too disrespectful to ask—could I possibly come back? You know, if I need to get away?” The older woman’s face didn’t betray much, but Hermione did register slight shock before she smiled back at her. 

“Well, I’d certainly like that very much,” Narcissa agreed, clasping Hermione’s hand once again and smiling kindly down at her. “George will be returning to gather everybody and go over some rules, so we really should be getting you back.” 

“Oh—of course.” Hermione hurried towards the door and, suddenly feeling much lighter, stepped back out into the spotlight. 

🌹

DRACO stepped out of the limo and onto the familiar grounds of his home, where he had been not even twenty-four hours before. The fall air was crisp and he adjusted his tie anxiously, clinging onto every bite of the cold as if he’d never feel it again. Why his mother wanted George Weasley to film his show  _ here _ in their  _ home _ was beyond him. He was even more appalled that George had actually  _ agreed  _ to do it. 

Speaking of, Draco was fast approaching the twinless redhead—another reason his show  _ shouldn’t be filming here _ —and his hands started to sweat. He didn’t know why he was nervous. He hadn’t even wanted to do this stupid show anyway. His mother had made him, citing a broken heart if he didn’t at least  _ try  _ and put himself out there again. 

Sure, he had tried dating after Hogwarts, but his trial was still ongoing and so it had ended in tears and heartbreak. Every potential engagement ended quickly once they realized the actual extent of his crimes, much like he expected it to, honestly. Not that it mattered, anyway—he hadn’t been interested in anybody other than one girl since fifth year; and that, he knew, wouldn’t even happen in his wildest dreams. 

“Draco Malfoy,” George greeted him warmly, like he was an old friend, with a firm handshake. “I think I speak for the entire Wizarding World when I say I’m  _ very  _ excited that you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Draco answered, flashing the Weasley a brilliant smile. “I’m truly happy to be here.”  _ Very nice, Draco,  _ he could almost hear his father say, and he hated himself for it.  _ Charming the people like a true Malfoy.  _

“You’re looking quite sharp,” George commented and Draco grinned and winked, knowing that certainly, every camera was on him now. “But unfortunately, we need to have a conversation before I can let you in there.”

On the outside, Draco nodded knowingly; but on the inside, he froze and anxiety raced icily through his veins. Sure, he had  _ some  _ idea that this was coming, but it didn’t stop the panic from flooding his system. He tried to push it back down frantically and he knew that the cameras could never tell. Thank God for Slytherin House and their tricky ways. 

“Yes, I suppose that’s warranted,” Draco finally responded, resisting the urge to cross his arms uncomfortably. Instead, he coolly stuck his hands into his pockets and refused to break his eye contact with George. 

“Draco, I think the world really wants to know just what you’ve been doing to prove that you no longer have any allegiance to Voldemort,” George responded bluntly, but Draco was prepared. 

“That’s fair,” Draco agreed, “and I’m sure that many of you have been wondering just why the Malfoy’s haven’t made any loud declaration or started a nonprofit to clear our names. Well, the truth is, to be quite frank—there isn’t anything that we can do, George. There is no possible way to come back from what we’ve done, and throwing money at the problem was always my father’s solution. I’m not going to start a charity to clear my name because honestly—I did all of those things that I was accused of. And all I can do now is say that I was horribly, horribly wrong; and I’m very sorry.” George actually had the decency to look mildly  _ impressed  _ by him.

“Any particular apologies?” George pushed further, an almost evil, greedy glint in his eyes. Draco raised an eyebrow; so he wanted something to talk about? Draco could give him something to talk about.

Draco took a deep breath, pushing his emotions to the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know who I’ll see in there, but in case I don’t get the opportunity, I would like to especially apologize to my former classmate and rival, Hermione Granger. Hermione, I can never take back the things that I did and said to you, but I promise to make it right however you see fit.”

“Well, Draco, that’s certainly admirable of you,” George commented. Then, with a steely glare, he added, “We can only hope that you mean it.” Draco nodded solemnly. 

“I do,” he promised.  _ More than I’ve ever meant anything.  _ “And George, if I may, I’d like to personally apologize to you; I know that my apology could never repair the destruction that the war caused or bring back your brother, but I could never tell you just how sorry I am.” Draco grasped George’s hand and noticed then that the Weasley boy had actual  _ tears _ in his eyes. “I mean it, George. I don’t care if you air this or not. I’m so, so sorry. Please—whatever you decide to do with this apology, I don’t care. I just need you to know that I mean it.”

George must have seen the look in Draco’s eyes because he, with tear-filled eyes of his own, nodded his acceptance. George fixed his tie and cleared his throat hesitantly before painting a smaller smile onto his face. 

“So then, Draco, we must ask—you  _ are _ still the Wizarding World’s richest and most eligible bachelor here—is there anybody that you’re hoping to form a connection with during your time here?” George prodded, his unsure desperately trying to search Draco. 

_ Yes.  _

“Honestly, George, all I’m looking for is a woman who is willing to forgive my past and see me for the person that I am now,” Draco supplied the information that he knew George readily wanted. “If I can prove to the world that my mother and I have changed, and possibly find a woman who can truly love me, I’ll be more than satisfied.”

It wasn’t quite the truth—only half of it, actually. All of those claims he just made were valid, yes, but there was really only  _ one  _ woman he wanted to forgive him. There had always only been one girl he hoped to someday marry.

He didn’t even think hope was the right word; dreamed, perhaps? Hope held far too much implication that such a thing could actually happen, and he knew better than that. He knew that what he really wanted could never be—whoever he married wouldn’t be her, and in his mind, that would forever be settling. 

“Draco, truly—I hope that you find what you’re looking for here,” George encouraged. “On that note, I see our final limo pulling up so we better get you inside. I assume you know the way?”

Draco chuckled and George’s eyes gleamed at his clever joke. Draco assured him that he thought he could figure it out before hurrying his way up the pathway to his home. Even though it was a place he felt comfortable, it still felt surreal and he was quite nervous. It was the feeling that one had when meeting somebody new for the first time, or having guests over that you’d been readily anticipating. He wondered how it would feel when he inevitably got kicked off the show—or, at the very least, when none of the women cared to date him and he kicked  _ himself _ off of the show. 

He absently noted that he’d entered the room and that nobody had even moved an inch. Blaise, Millie, and Daphne were congregated at the bar with Theo, laughing at something he’d said, presumably. He also noted Lovegood wandering around, Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott looking cozy in the corner of the room, and Ginny Weasley grinning flirtatiously at Oliver Wood. 

Now  _ that  _ was interesting; he saw Potter just a few weeks ago and he hadn’t mentioned a split with the redhead—he assumed when he saw the Weaslette with Pansy that George had somehow swindled Harry and Ginny into doing a public engagement for his show. He knew that Harry  _ wanted  _ to marry her, and he also knew that the man had been terrified of the commitment. Perhaps he’d taken too long and Ginny moved on, just like his mother had warned him she might do. 

“Hey mate!” Theo called from across the room. “Whoever you’re looking for, she’s not here.” A wink. Prat; he  _ knew  _ who Draco was ‘looking’ for. 

“I wasn’t looking for anybody,” Draco hissed as he approached the bar, snagging an open drink from the counter.  _ Ugh, butterbeer. _ “And now you’ve made a scene.” He felt his cheeks flush as every pair of eyes watched him—well, not  _ every  _ pair. Weasley and some blonde with too much eye makeup were too busy playing a very hands-on game in the corner to notice anything was going on. 

He snarled at Ron, even though he knew that the bloke wasn’t paying him any mind; he couldn’t  _ stand _ Weasley. How Potter stood to be his friend, he’d never know. 

“You’ve stolen my drink,” a timid voice chuckled from beside him. Draco blanched at the sight of Katie Bell, already holding hands with a very wary looking Dean Thomas. Draco coughed nervously while the rest of his friends stifled laughter. At least they had the courtesy to turn away. 

“Katie,” Draco greeted awkwardly, pushing her drink slowly back over to her. She snorted in amusement. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you there, honestly; I thought I was stealing one of my degenerate friend’s drinks.”

“Hey!”

“Oh come on now Draco,” Katie rolled her eyes and thanked Theo as he poured her another butterbeer. “There’s no need to use faux mean language; we both know how nice you  _ really  _ are.” He blushed at her subtle reminder of his weak apology years ago and nodded in response. She winked at him.

“No, Katie told me what you did,” Dean interjected, forcing a smile into his face. “That was big of you. I didn’t know you had it in you, Draco.”

“That would make two of us,” Blaise agreed, “ _ What _ exactly are we talking about?”

“Well, after the war, Draco found me and apologized for everything he did to me,” Katie answered, “He paid all of my bills for a year and even helped me denounce and destroy illegal Dark Artifacts at the Ministry—“

“It’s nothing,” Draco interrupted lowly. “Definitely nothing that could make up for anything that I did.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Dean, of all people, replied. “I think you’ve put yourself on a good path.”

“Awe,” Theo cooed, “I can see Skeeter’s headline now: ‘Draco Malfoy and Dean Thomas—an unforeseen yet beautiful relationship that brings hope to this generation of young witches and wizards.’”

“Tosser,” Dean growled, but he was laughing. “You’re the only gay one here, buddy.”

“For now.” Theo shot him a wink, Dean squirmed uncomfortably, and Katie Bell burst into a fit of hysterics. Draco even found himself wanting to smile. 

“Holy shit,” Daphne exclaimed, “ _ Granger’s  _ here and she looks…...wow. She’s like a whole different person from our Hogwarts days, isn’t she?”

It was embarrassing how quickly Draco whipped around to find Hermione; and the second he did, his heart threatened to jump out of his chest. 

She looked beautiful, obviously, but he had to disagree with Daphne. She was always that beautiful. 

“What is she doing here?” Draco heard himself ask, enraged. He reminded himself to tone it down. “She doesn’t need to see  _ that _ .” He gestured to their right with his head at Hermione’s ex-fiancé and the unknown blonde on the couch. His hand was currently up her skirt, his face pressed to her neck, her eyes glazed over. Draco snarled. 

“Disgusting,” Blaise agreed, “Not to mention she’s Hermione’s boss.”

Draco looked over at him so fast his neck cracked. 

“ _ What _ ?” He hissed, his anger falling inside of him from the top down and building up like Tetris blocks.  _ On Merlin’s grave, I will kill that tosser one day. _

“Yeah,” Blaise continued slowly, him and Theo sharing  _ the  _ look. The  _ shit-I-shouldn’t-have-said-that  _ look. “Awful bint, too. Slept her way to where she got. Her and her colleagues treat Hermione like shit on their shoes.”

“And Kingsley  _ allows  _ this?” Draco yelled incredulously. Daphne snickered and Draco shot her a glare. “I mean seriously—does that make sense to  _ anybody?  _ Woman saves the freaking wizarding world and our Minister allows her to be treated like that by some—some slag?!” 

“Well how do you know she’s a whore, Drake?” Mille questioned, a giggle hiding at the end of her sentence. Everybody seemed to be quite amused at Draco’s anger. “You don’t even know her.”

“She’s a whore,” Draco, Blaise, and Theo chorused together. 

“And—shit—there goes  _ McLaggen _ trying to talk to her. Seriously? Of all blokes—“

“Well she certainly doesn’t look like she particularly  _ wants  _ to talk to him,” Daphne observed. “Maybe you should go save her, Draco.”

Draco scoffed. “I’m sure she’d prefer the presence of McLaggen to mine, Daphne.”

“That may be true,” Theo agreed, “Rumor has it she slept with him. Last year, after her split from Weasley.”

“Well there you have it,” Draco growled through gritted teeth feeling suddenly sick.  _ Fucking McLaggen? _ “She’s into wankers.”

“Well then what do  _ you _ have to be worried about?” Theo jibed, earning a laugh from the group. Draco stood up from his chair. 

“Well I, for one, didn’t come here to watch everybody  _ else  _ shag so I’m taking a break,” Draco announced dramatically, straightening his tie and rushing away from the group. He retreated to the corner of the room, sweat dusting his brow, as he told himself not to look at her. 

He looked at her. 

Her golden dress clung to her body for dear life and her golden hair hung in waves down her back. It was longer than he’d thought it was. Her caramel eyes darted around uncomfortably until—Merlin,  _ Blaise _ , showed up— and Draco looked away uncomfortably. 

After a few moments of what he could only assume was either polite chatter or Blaise hitting on her-- _ bastard _ \--Granger made her way over to the bar with him, where everybody but Theo had retreated after Draco’s exit. He watched them interact for minutes, a half-hour, maybe, until he finally decided he was going to go and join them. If he was going to socialize with anybody, he might as well talk to  _ her _ . Even if she did want nothing to do with him, she had to enjoy his presence more than  _ theirs.  _

Or at least that was the only rational explanation his brain would allow him to use at the moment. He’d be damned if he admitted he  _ felt  _ anything for her. 

Draco paused in his tracks when the blonde, Hermione’s boss, came up behind her and grabbed her shoulder in a viselike grip. Draco felt a snarl make its way up his lips and he began to move faster, determined to say his piece to the woman. 

Suddenly, Granger was out of her seat and heading towards him, fast. Salazar, she was going to—

She ran headfirst into him again and he steadied her body with his hands. 

“Granger,” he spoke breathlessly, “Are you--”

“I need you to get me out of here,” she replied tersely, eyes brimming with tears. Draco’s heart clenched. “I just--I need a minute. I need to be out of this room for just a minute.” Her big brown eyes looked at him then and he knew at that moment that there was  _ nothing  _ in this world that he could ever deny her. 

“Follow me,” he agreed quietly. He hesitated before placing his palm on the small of her back, begging himself  _ not  _ to stroke her comfortingly. That wasn’t what she needed. Before he knew it, he was leading her to his mother’s tea quarters. The only place that he  _ knew _ she would be well taken care of. Acting on pure impulse, he reached out his hand and snatched hers up, her body pulling towards him. His trousers tightened. “Listen, Granger, this is the only place that I know of that there won’t be any cameras, but you should be warned that--”

“I don’t care, Malfoy,” Granger interrupted him and he winced. “I don’t care if it’s your childhood bedroom or the elve’s quarters--”

“No, Granger, just  _ listen-- _ ”

“I don’t care!” Hermione hissed back as she yanked away from him, not even bothering to spare him a glance as she hid behind his mother’s door, away from him and everything else. 

“Suit yourself,” Draco smirked at the shut door, leaning back against the wall behind him. He gave her five minutes alone with his mother, tops. There was absolutely no way she would willingly speak with the Lady Malfoy and soon, she would be back here. With him. 

When forty-five minutes passed—he would know, he counted them—he began to worry. Perhaps she killed her? He wasn’t sure which  _ she  _ killed  _ whom  _ though, although his guess would be he was now motherless. 

The door finally opened just as Draco got up the courage to knock, and Granger walked out, looking significantly lighter. 

“So you  _ did _ kill her,” Draco commented teasingly, before remembering just  _ who  _ he was talking to. His eyes widened and he gulped, a gesture Granger seemed to catch. Her lips even quirked up into a smile. 

“Your mother is lovely,” she admitted quietly. Draco thought he might faint. Or perhaps he already had, and this was all a dream. “Why were you waiting for me?”

“I wasn’t,” he defended  _ much  _ too quickly. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he had a feeling she was about to call him out for his obvious lie. “I just wanted to make sure that my mother—that  _ she— _ was okay.”

A scoff. “Your  _ mother _ ,” another voice, a sassier,  _ familiar  _ voice said from behind them. “Likely story, Malfoy.”

“Ginny,” he growled, stepping further away from Hermione with a snarl. Ginny shrugged and reached her hand out to Granger, but Hermione was looking between the two of them like they were otherworldly. 

“Did you just call her  _ Ginny _ ?” Hermione questioned incredulously, her mouth agape in shock. “What—do I  _ dare  _ ask what’s going on here?” Ginny laughed and forcefully took her hand, gesturing for her to follow. 

“What’s going  _ on  _ here is that George needs to sit all of the contestants down and speak with them,” Ginny explained, casting her head back to make sure Draco was following. He glared at her; he knew that  _ she  _ knew far too much about him. Sodding  _ Potter.  _ Never should have let the bloke through his front door. Never should have let him try his mother’s tarts.  _ Definitely  _ never should have become his sodding  _ mate.  _

“As for Malfoy—“  _ Great _ . She was still  _ speaking.  _ “I guess you can say we’re friends.”

“Hardly,” Draco butt in, earning himself a glare from Ginny and an amused chortle from Granger. He glowered at them, but it must not have been all that threatening because they shared an amused glance. 

“Oh, please,” Ginny argued. “You like me.”

“I like  _ Potter _ —I merely  _ tolerate  _ you.”

Granger stopped dead in her tracks and whipped around, eyes wide. 

“You  _ like  _ HARRY—“

“This is a conversation for  _ another _ time,” Ginny admonished him with a steely gaze, as if  _ he  _ were the one that started all of this. “George had a lot planned and we’re already behind thanks to your daring escape.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” Granger mumbled. Draco trained his eyes on her  _ head _ —her head and  _ not her arse.  _ “Nobody  _ warned _ me that  _ she  _ would be here. And Ron—“

“Don’t get me started on my arsehole brother,” Ginny warned, pulling them both back into the main room where everybody’s eyes were on them. 

“Why is everybody watching us?”

“Probably because they think you were snogging Malfoy in a hidden room of his house,” Ginny pointed out matter-of-factly. Draco smirked and he watched Granger blush all the way to her neck. 

“That’s  _ mortifying _ ,” she whispered and he rolled his eyes to mask his mild hurt. Ginny glanced back at him with pursed lips and gestured to the courtyard entrance, where people were suddenly starting to file into. 

“It could be worse,” Ginny attempted to console her friend, “it could’ve been  _ Cormac _ —who you apparently  _ slept _ with by the way?” 

Draco watched as Granger winced and glanced back at him warily. 

“Don’t worry Granger,” Draco reassured, plastering on a faux smirk, “I won’t tell anybody.” Her face flooded with relief. “The mere fact is humiliating enough on its own.” 

Granger’s cheeks flushed and she glared at him icily, causing his insides to flip and flop around, beating on his rib cage. 

“Malfoy, you’re a spineless little--”

“ _ Enough _ ,” Ginny hissed, pushing both of them forward. “Go into the courtyard, sit the hell down, and shut up. I’m done being everybody’s mother.” Granger gasped as if she was offended, but Draco simply flipped her the bird behind their backs. He did, however, hurriedly find a seat next to Blaise in his courtyard and watch as Granger sat gingerly next to Ginny, eyeing Ron and his blonde slut anxiously.

“Hello everybody!” George’s cheery voice rang inside of Draco’s head and he watched as the Weasley strutted in a differently colored suit. It looked quite expensive, actually, and it was blue. It didn’t look half-bad on the bloke. “I want to give everybody a warm welcome and explain to you all, and our audience at home, the format of ‘George Weasley’s Most Eligible. Assuming most of you have not seen the Muggle show, that is.”

There were some excited giggles and nervous chuckles before George moved on. “As you know, this show will run for three months; whether you are here for that duration or not is completely dependent on whether or not you form a romantic connection with another person here. It’s the beginning of October now, and if you do form a romantic connection, it’s expected that you’ll propose on New Year’s Eve, on our only live television event of this season. Following the engagement’s on New Year’s Eve we will do a live sit down show with the newly engaged couples and talk about your relationships. This will be a chance for our audience to ask you questions and possibly gain more interest for future seasons of the show.”

Draco didn’t know why he was starting with the end, but at the excited look of hope on everybody  _ else’s  _ faces, he understood. Motivation.

“That being said, let’s get to the here and the now,” George cleared his throat nervously. “This week, you may have noticed that there are nine women and seven men. The men hold the roses this week; that means, at the very end of the week, we will hold a Rose Ceremony in which the seven men will each offer a rose to one woman that they wish to pursue a relationship with. The two women who are not offered roses will be sent home immediately following the Ceremony. Next week, we will bring in two more men and the women will hold the roses. This means that although there may be some established relationships, there is always fresh meat--so to speak--coming in that could potentially form a connection with somebody that you gave your rose to or were currently pursuing a relationship with. We will stop bringing in new contestants at the beginning of December, where we will encourage our contestants to explore whether or not their current relationships are worth pursuing.”

“Wait,” McLaggen interrupted, “So I could give my rose to somebody here--” he grinned at Hermione and Draco gagged. “And then she could pursue a relationship with somebody else next week  _ even  _ if she says yes to my rose.”

“That’s correct,” George confirmed. “While roses can certainly be an indication of interest in genuinely pursuing a romantic relationship, they also just mean that whoever the rose is offered to is saved for next week. There are no guarantees--unless you feel you know your partner won’t stray, that is.” 

McLaggen pursed his lips, appearing to be deep in thought--appearing, because Draco doubted his thoughts were deep enough to sink into.

“Throughout the weeks, we will pick specific people to give date cards to,” George continued. “This means that the person with the date card has the opportunity to choose one person to take out on a fancy, expensive date and see if a potential relationship could form. Again, there are no rules on who you can ask and how many different people you ask on separate dates. We  _ want  _ you to find love, so look around, see who’s here and what they have to offer. There will also be group dates here at the Manor, where there will be a specific activity that everybody is engaging in. In between these times we encourage you to chat and find things to do around the Manor in the designated areas set for the show, which will always be marked.”

George whipped out a deep purple and red envelope and set it on the table in front of him. “This is your first group date activity,” he introduced. “On that note, we advise you to have fun and we  _ so  _ look forward to the connections that are inevitably going to be made. Enjoy your date!” George winked at all of his contestants and stalked out of the courtyard, presumably to watch what was unfolding on one of his secret cameras.

Everybody looked at each other for a second until finally, Ginny sighed. 

“Alright,” she groaned, standing up from her seat and snatching up the date card. Everybody seemed to be watching with bated breath and held-in excitement--except for Granger, who seemed definitively uneasy. Draco couldn’t help but echo her sentiment. 

Ginny glanced over the card and then smirked.

“‘Dare Night’,” she announced. “‘A Muggle Game; over the course of the next hour, random contestants will have cards appear on their laps one at a time and must fulfill one of the actions outlined on their card.’”

_ For the love of Merlin, do not send one my way. If there ever was a higher being, you wouldn’t do this to me. Please.  _

“Well, I supposed that’s what  _ this  _ is,” Neville Longbottom stated nervously, biting his lower lip and seemingly starting to panic. There were multiple  _ ooh’s _ throughout the room as he turned Gryffindor red and opened his card. 

He turned green. 

“‘Choose one person in the group to share a passionate kiss with,’” a blush “‘or lick the bottom of your shoe.’”

“What kind of juvenile bullshit—“

Ginny immediately shut her mouth as Longbottom took Hannah Abbott by the face and pulled her into a  _ very  _ indiscreet make-out session.

“Shit,” Blaise chuckled, “GO LONGBOTTOM!” The room was filled with whooping and cheering as Longbottom continued to kiss Hannah and even Draco had to admit--bloke had a knob. 

Neville seemed to set a happy mood for the rest of the group date, and everybody seemed to genuinely be having a good time; only he and Granger, he noticed, sat more reservedly in their seats, watching the events unfold. Granger would crack a smile here and there, but never appeared as vivacious and outgoing as the other women. 

He hated to admit that he watched her for the majority of the date. 

A half hour, a semi-striptease by the Weasel, and a half naked Blaise later, a card appeared on Granger’s lap. 

She blanched and Draco was immediately curious. 

“‘Give the group a taste of your singing abilities with a song of our choosing,’” she held her breath, “‘or...strip to your underwear for the rest of the evening.’” She looked like she was going to throw up and she looked to Ginny desperately for help. 

Her boss—Draco couldn’t even remember her name—snorted. 

“Well  _ this  _ should be hilarious,” she chuckled, “c’mon,  _ Hermy _ , show us what you got or, you know,  _ show us what you got _ .” She giggled and Ron snorted and Draco wanted to kill them both. By the look on Hermione’s face, she recognized and didn't appreciate the nickname either. 

“Is that the best jibe you’ve got?” Draco mocked, his mouth opening before his brain could process his own thoughts. “Wow, very funny. Ten points to—wherever the hell you're from; or, I’m not sure Blaise, is ten too generous?”

“ _ Far _ too generous,” Blaise chimed in, “I’d say one and only for effort; the hilarity and delivery of the joke really didn’t come through at all.” 

The entire  _ room _ was gaping at Draco, and nobody was more surprised than Granger herself. 

Granger’s boss, whatever the hell her name was, had the audacity to openly glare at him. Funnily enough, she didn’t seem to have anything else to  _ say _ , though. 

“Well I’m obviously not taking my clothes off,” Granger hissed. 

“Oh I am  _ so  _ looking forward to this,” the incorrigible blonde giggled  _ again _ . “Bring on the music!”

Draco cursed every being and entity that made that note fall into Granger’s lap; both for  _ her  _ and for his own secondhand embarrassment. Of all of the people to further humiliate—why her? The woman had enough opportunities by herself—tripping over thin air, getting various objects stuck in her hair, running into walls like an adorable little lunatic. 

_ Although, why did people hate her for those things because they were actually pretty damn sexy— _

Draco shook his head as if he could make his thoughts disappear. The point of the matter was, she didn’t need something else for people to poke fun at. 

Draco desperately searched the deep recesses of his mind for any way to subtly get her out of this. 

Granger rose from her seat, flipping the card away behind her, and nervously began playing with her hair, her eyes closed, rooted to her spot. 

Perhaps he could conjure his stowed away wand--they weren’t allowed to use them during dates, apparently--and start a fire? Although he doubted that his mother would appreciate  _ that _ .

A lovely melody began to play. Draco didn’t recognize it, but by the subconscious sway of Granger’s hips,  _ she  _ did. 

He held in a breath so long he wondered if he might turn blue and pass out. 

Everybody else in the room seemed to hold the same anxiety, and some people even shared awkward winces and glances. Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to hide himself or  _ her _ . 

He couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. 

She opened her mouth. 

_ Oh, bloody hell— _

A beautiful, pure melody spilled from Hermione’s throat, her eyes shut tightly, but her face otherwise very relaxed. Everybody in the room seemed to collectively gasp and even  _ that  _ didn’t break her out of her stupor. The contestants all wore shocked looks on their faces, glancing at one another to see if they were all truly  _ hearing  _ this.

She was beautiful. 

She was radiant. 

She was  _ wonderful.  _ Why didn’t anybody  _ know  _ she was wonderful? 

Draco couldn’t help himself as he continually leaned forward in his seat, entranced by the woman before him. Her voice rose and fell at perfect spots, her emotion almost overtaking her at times. She just kept  _ going  _ and  _ going,  _ not even  _ realizing  _ the very real magic she was making just with her voice and the way that the entire room was caught in her spell. 

And she just kept  _ singing _ \-- the lyrics saying something about how nothing was ever enough, and nothing would ever  _ be  _ enough if nobody could ever love her and  _ damn it Granger YOU’RE fucking enough  _ and Draco couldn’t even—

“Mate,” Blaise whispered to him, “you might want to compose yourself before the entire room realizes you’re in love with her.” 

Draco instantly snapped out of it and closed his,  _ apparently _ , agape mouth. He glared at Blaise furiously. 

“I’m not in love with her.” He was fucking in love with her. 

Granger seemed to come back to herself as the song ended, humiliation dawning across her features when she’d realized what just happened. 

Nobody could move. Nobody could speak. Everybody sat there, heart-stricken by whatever the  _ hell  _ she just did. 

“Holy shit, Hermione,” Ginny reeled back in her chair. “You’re  _ amazing _ .” The entire room was suddenly filled with choruses of agreement—Daphne was wiping her  _ eyes _ —and Granger hid her face with her hair, her head turned down embarrassedly as she mumbled a thank you and quickly sat back in her seat. 

Nobody seemed to breathe after that. Not for a while. Not until Blaise announced that he was going to go play Exploding Snap since the date was over—he was still just in his underwear from his dare—and then everybody waddled out the door, shooting skeptical looks of wonderment at Granger.

Everyone except her boss, that is. She sulked out the door and pulled the Weasel with her. 

Draco rushed to the bar—he needed something particularly strong after  _ that.  _

“Hey mate,” Theo greeted, and there was some sort of  _ edge _ , some sort of implication hanging by a thread onto his words. “You, uh, you feeling alright?”

“Firewhiskey,” Draco ordered, voice unnecessarily husky. He adjusted his trousers and swallowed his nerves down, his fingers tapping anxiously at the bar. Theo watched him hesitantly. “Fucking  _ now  _ Theo.”

“Alright, alright,” Theo gave in, turning around and mixing him something strong. A long stretch of silence passed by while he drank--before Theo slammed his hand onto the bar, and scared the shit out of him. 

“What the hell, Theo?”

“How long have you known, Drake?”

“What?” Draco’s question came out far more aggressive than he’d intended it to. He took a deep breath. “Known what?”

Theo turned around, slowly pushing another drink towards him before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“That you’re whipped, mate. A fucking goner. Head over bloody heels—“

“Shut up,” Draco hissed, “just do your sodding job—“

“This _is_ my sodding job,” Theo argued, slamming his dishrag onto the counter. Draco jumped, wide eyed, as he stared down his nose at his friend. “And it’s about time you _paid_ me for it or something because for the last five _years_ I’ve had to listen to you whine ‘Granger this’ and ‘Granger that’ and ‘what does the witch see in Weasley anyway, the bloke’s a tosser’—and you still have yet to do a _damn_ _thing_ about the way you feel for her!”

“ _ Well what the bloody hell was I supposed to do _ ?!” Draco screamed back, garnering attention from a few nearby contestants. He shrunk down lower in his seat and, with a much quieter tone, added, “I treated her like scum for the majority of our lives. Called her a  _ Mudblood.  _ I acted like she was actually  _ beneath  _ me. And I  _ believed  _ it, too. I fought in a fucking  _ war  _ against her, Theo, and the kicker here, mate—if I had  _ won  _ that war she’d probably be dead. I  _ literally  _ fought for a side that hated her,  _ no—despised— _ who she is and where she came from. So I ask you now, mate;  _ what the bloody hell am I supposed to do? _ ”

Draco could hear the silence clearer than he’d heard anything in his entire life because the answer was—nothing. There was nothing he could do that could change what he did. He was royally fucked and he knew it. Pining after her, feeling heartbroken every time she chose somebody that wasn’t him, that was his cross to bear. He fucking deserved it. 

Theo stood in front of him, big brown eyes watching his every move. Finally, he sighed, rested his hands on the bar in front of him, and lowered his head for several long moments. 

Draco finished his alcohol. 

Theo looked up at him again, finally, and jabbed him in the chest. 

“That boy you just described,” he began, “is  _ not  _ you. It’s not fair to yourself—or Granger, for that matter--to keep punishing yourself for behaving in a way that you no longer believe is right. If she never gets to know who you really are, mate, how can she ever decide for herself what she wants from you? Don’t take that decision away from her.”

“Excuse me,” Katie Bell’s voice floated into their conversation like a splash of cold water. Draco whipped his head towards her and she walked forward, blushing, and held out a card to him. “It’s a date card; it’s for you, Draco.” Then, without any sort of warning, Katie threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

Draco didn’t know what to do; awkwardly, he patted her on the back until she instantly pulled away. She placed her hand on top of his. 

“For what it’s worth,” she continued, “I forgive you, Draco—and I know if you gave her a chance to see all that you’ve changed, she would too.” She gave him a small, pitiful smile and hurried away, leaving both Draco and Theo completely stunned. Draco decided to file that interaction away and looked hopelessly down at his date card.

“What the hell do I do with this?

Theo shrugged. “That’s up to you, mate; but you know what  _ I  _ would do if the person I’d been madly in love with was here,  _ single,  _ sitting over there looking all sad like she is?” Draco turned and, sure enough, Granger was sitting next to the Weasel and looked about ready to pummel him into human dirt. “I’d ask her out on a date. The worst she can say is  _ no  _ mate—and then you can go back to your depressive pining.”

“Please,” Draco scoffed, “there’s  _ plenty  _ of worse things she could say that aren’t ‘no.’”

“She could always say yes—“

“I don’t even know why I came here,” Draco grumbled, laying his head on the table in his frustration. “I should leave.”

“Tell you what—ask her on that date. If she says no, take that as your sign to leave; but if she says yes, you  _ have  _ to give her a chance to see you through.” Draco eagerly looked up at Theo’s words, lips pursed. “You’ve got nothing to lose if you’re so convinced she hates you.” 

“Fine,” Draco agreed through gritted teeth. He grabbed a bottle of alcohol behind the counter, much to Theo’s dismay, and took a large swig. Theo looked offended. “I’ll be back to say my goodbyes.” With another abnormally large swig of alcohol, Draco rose from his seat and stalked over to where Granger was sitting next to the Weasel, face red and clearly upset.

“Ronald,” she was saying, “I honestly can’t believe--”

“Granger.”

Hermione startled and whipped around to face Draco, shock and curiosity registering on her features. 

“Yes, Malfoy?” She asked with a sigh. She was frustrated, and it clearly wasn’t the time to be speaking to her…

But he had no idea when he’d get another chance.

“I have a date card, and well, I was wondering--oh sod it--Hermione, will you go with me?” She blanched; and maybe it was the directness of his offer. Or, perhaps the fact that he’d used her first name.

Whatever it was, she gave him a tentative smile. And then--

“Sure, Malfoy; I’d  _ love  _ to.”


	4. Feel Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an extra-long chapter for you! It, uh, kind of got away from me for a second there! Also, Ron is kind of a jerk right now and I'm sorry about that. He gets better. He's just going through some stuff right now. Enjoy! (Please). And thanks for reading!!

ELECTRICITY.

That was the best way that Hermione could describe what her  _ nerves _ felt like. Every single nerve ending, every sensory receptor seemed to be buzzing with lightning. She hadn’t done what she did in a  _ long  _ time--besides the occasional performance at family reunions--and she felt absolutely  _ radiant _ .

She didn’t even remember getting back to her seat. All she remembered was the music, the darkness, and the  _ silence  _ of the people surrounding her as they  _ listened _ .  _ To her _ .

“Damn,” Ginny whispered as they made their way out the door. “Just-- _ damn _ . How did I not know that you could  _ do _ that, ‘Mione?”

“Well it isn't like there’s many opportunities for music at Hogwarts,” Hermione rebutted, playing with her curls, suddenly nervous as reality came crashing back down around her. Everybody was  _ staring  _ at her. Why was everybody  _ staring at her _ ? “And Frog Choir certainly isn’t anything worth noting.”

“Yes, but--I don’t know,” Ginny sighed, ushering Hermione to the bar. Theo gave them a nod as he instinctively mixed the girls a drink. “I figured it could come up once in a while over family dinner, or something? I mean, Ron doesn’t even know?”

“Not likely,” Hermione brushed off, thanking Theo as he handed her the drink. “I really don’t do it much. Or talk about it. My family’s really the only people who know about it, you know. Mum made me take lessons when I was younger and she loved that I was better than my cousins. Mostly because, well, they were mean.” She was rambling now, and probably blushing furiously, if the heat in her cheeks and on her neck was any indication. “They still found a way to make me feel inferior, anyway.”

“We probably would have too, so, good call,” Theo chimed in, “you know, on not doing it at school.” Hermione snorted in agreement and Theo suddenly blushed. “I’m...sorry about that, by the way.” Hermione looked over at Ginny, who was already looking at her, and they shared a questioning look.

“I...think we’re past that, Nott,” Hermione finally answered, gracing Theo with a kind smile. “I mean, you told me you were gay.”

“Hermione,  _ everybody knows  _ he’s gay,” Ginny snorted, downing her drink in one fluid motion that frankly, intimidated Hermione. 

“Oh,” Hermione answered, slightly disheartened. “Well, um--”

“I’d like to be your friend,” Theo interrupted, thankfully, because Hermione wasn’t sure she was truly going anywhere with her next sentence. She let out a stiff breath that she didn’t even realize she’d been holding and barely convinced herself to nod back at him. “I mean, I know that I hardly deserve it, but I hope that I’ve changed enough to earn a chance.”

Hermione definitely considered it; it wasn’t like Theodore Nott had even been a Death Eater. She  _ was  _ short on friends lately, and he certainly  _ seemed  _ sincere. 

In short: what did she have to lose?

Hermione smiled at Theo, and maybe she was still on a confidence high—but whatever it was, she said, “Tell you what—you let me set you up on a blind date, and I’ll consider us friends.” Ginny snorted and Theo quirked an eyebrow in amusement, the intrigue written all over his face. Feeling just a  _ little bit  _ devilish, Hermione smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. “Have we got a deal Nott?” Theo and Ginny were thoroughly taken aback, if looks were anything to go off of, and Hermione felt her smirk widen across her already amused face. 

“Alright, Granger. I’m...intrigued,” Theo admitted, his lips curving into a rather wide smile. He was flipping a bottle of  _ some  _ sort of expensive alcohol absentmindedly, grin still plastered safely onto his face as he studied Hermione. “But, I’m quite curious Granger--do you even  _ know _ any other gay men?” Hermione scoffed, offended. She  _ knew  _ other gay men;  _ of course  _ she knew other gay men.

Of course, most of them were Muggles. 

But still.

“Please--of  _ course _ I do,” she hissed, “What, do you think that you’re the only gay man in the entirety of the Wizarding World--”

“Oh  _ shit _ ,” Theo cackled, impulsively reaching across the bar and grasping both of the girl’s hands and leaning forward with a gigantic grin on his face. “I mean, I figured that Potter was just being a noncommittal ass, but if you’re about to tell me that Weaslette here broke up with Potter because he’s  _ gay _ \--”

“Harry is  _ not gay _ !” Ginny hissed, standing up from her seat instantly, her face bright red. “Merlin, I almost wish that he  _ were _ gay because it might make his blatant rejection a bit easier.”

“Oh,” Theo replied, dropping their hands in disappointment. “So--just another straight man who can't get a handle on their own fear of commitment, then?” 

All three of them sighed.

“Unfortunately--”

“Yep.”

“Shame,” Theo sighed again, flipping his drink one last time, “because that man, while a bit too much of a Hero’s Complex for my taste, is  _ damn  _ fit.” He sideeyed Ginny, who suddenly looked quite sullen. “The two of you would have made beautiful children.”

She slightly perked up at this.

The three of them sat in comfortable silence until Ron made his way over to the bar--Helga, thankfully, absent.

“Hey mate,” Ron greeted Theo, who raised a questioning eyebrow back at him. “Something strong, please.”

“Now, why would you need something so strong, Ronald?” Ginny asked innocently, batting her long eyelashes obliviously at her brother. “Is Helga’s company not quite  _ stimulating  _ enough for you?”

Hermione spat out her drink instantly upon hearing her innuendo, and Theo couldn’t quite stifle his laughter himself. 

“Sod off, Gin,” Ron growled, snatching up his drink ferociously and gulping it down. “It’s not like I’m in love with her; she’s just a willing distraction until somebody better comes along, anyway.”

Hermione opened her mouth to chastise him about just how horrible and  _ disgusting  _ that was, when an idea formed in her head.

“Wait,” she interrupted, Ron looking up at her curiously. “You’re essentially just  _ wasting  _ a rose on her until somebody else catches your interest?”

Ron glared at her.

“Save the lecture, Hermione,” he hissed, burrowing his face in his arms tiredly. “I might as well be doing her a favor; me giving her a rose lets her stay for another week, meaning that she could  _ also  _ find--”

“ _ Shhhhhhh _ ,” Hermione chastised, grasping Ron’s arm and bringing her face excitedly closer to his. “No, Ron, you misunderstand; why waste your rose on  _ her _ when you can just give it to me?” Immediately, Ron straightened up and viciously yanked his arm out of Hermione’s grasp, clearly taken aback.

“‘Mione, you can’t be fucking  _ serious _ ,” he hissed, and Hermione’s stomach dropped at his language towards her. “Dear Godric, I didn’t think I’d have to do this but obviously I do--what we had, Hermione, is  _ over. Completely  _ over. I want  _ nothing  _ to do with any sort of romantic relationship with you  _ whatsoever _ . Merlin, do you...even  _ understand  _ that Hermione?” His face was searching hers worriedly, as if  _ she  _ was an annoying little ex-girlfriend. Anger bubbled up inside of her chest but she forced it back down for the sake of her cause. 

“Please,” she scoffed, making the conscious decision to bury her anger. “As if I want to get back together with  _ you _ , Ron; look, you  _ know  _ that I agreed to stay on the show if a rose was offered to me and I am  _ fairly  _ certain that Cormac has his all lined up and ready to go for me. If he offers me his rose, I  _ have  _ to accept it and if I  _ do a _ ccept it, then he’s going to believe that I’m interested in him when I absolutely am  _ not _ . Not to mention I’ll look like an  _ idiot  _ on television; if you offer me your rose instead, then I don’t  _ have  _ to accept his--”

Ron got up from the bar instantly, slamming his hand down on the counter and cursing furiously as he walked away. Hermione flushed red with anger and pushed away from the bar herself to follow him.

“Ronald Weasley, sit down and have a  _ decent  _ conversation with me--”

“No, Hermione, because there’s no way in hell that I’m agreeing to this ridiculous plan of yours,” he hissed, plopping himself into an armchair and shaking his head as if he were witnessing the most ridiculous thing in the entire world right now. 

“Ron,” Hermione continued calmly, sitting in the loveseat across from him. “It would only be for this week, and then I can go home—“

“And what if no girl chooses me next week?” Ron cut in with a scoff, clearly perturbed. “Then what, Hermione? Because the way that I see it, is that to the press,  _ I _ will look as if I’m still in love with you. And Merlin, Hermione, I  _ cannot  _ afford to look like a pathetic, lovestruck puppy in the Prophet right now; not to mention, I’m  _ not  _ in love with you!” Hermione noticed her teeth and her fists were clenched and made a point to visibly relax, releasing a calming sigh as she did.

“Ron,” she managed to breathe out, feeling her hair frizz out more and more the angrier that she got, “I’m not asking-- _ nor expecting _ \--for you to fall in love with me, or to be in  _ any  _ sort of semblance of a relationship with me. I really,  _ really  _ just do  _ not  _ want to lead Cormac on--”

“Well why the hell don’t you just  _ accept _ his damn rose, Hermione?” Ron suddenly interrupted, the tips of his ears red from his mixture of anger and alcohol. “For fuck’s sake, we all know that you’re not going to be getting one from anybody else here.”

Hermione froze, every bone in her body turning to ice. The blood moving in through her veins seemed to stop pumping all together, and even her heart constricted with hurt at his implications.

“What…” she squeaked out, desperately holding back her tears. “What do you mean, Ron?” The redhead glared at her, freckles gleaming under the lowlights and lips turned upwards into a sneer. 

“I mean exactly what I said, Hermione,” Ron hissed back, seemingly more confident the lower he put Hermione down. “The only man here who’s even  _ remotely  _ interested in you is the only one who can’t get  _ any  _ from anybody else here; now the real question is, does he want you for your tits, or your Ministry salary?”

“Wow,” Hermione gasped out, hurriedly brushing away the tears from under her eyelids. “Ron, that was  _ low,  _ even for you--”

“Sod off,” Ron slurred, and although Hermione  _ knew  _ that this was all the alcohol talking, she could barely fight the urge to slap him across the face. “All I’m saying is, you may as well take what you can get because he’s the first man to show interest in you in a while, Hermione. I suggest that you bag him while you still can.”

Hermione didn’t respond for a while, because she wasn’t entirely sure just where this was  _ coming  _ from; any time Ron had lashed out like that at her before, he’d been jealous. With her, with Harry, but she didn’t see what could be putting him off so badly  _ this  _ time around. Surely it wasn’t her, and Harry wasn’t even  _ here _ .

“I don’t know why you’re saying these things,” Hermione whispered, and she knew that her  _ hurt  _ and her betrayal was being conveyed through her tone. At least Ron had the decency to wince. “Ronald, I honestly can’t believe--”

“Granger?” Hermione jumped at the intrusion; she’d been so lost in her own emotions and in trying to figure out just what Ron’s deal was  _ this  _ time around, that she hadn’t even noticed anybody approaching. 

She was shocked to find Malfoy staring down at her with apprehensive grey eyes, his fingers absentmindedly adjusting his cufflinks and Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gazed down at her. She took in his appearance for the second time that day--she wasn’t  _ blind _ \--before gathering up the wits to address him back.

“Yes, Malfoy?” She asked, curiosity blooming like a flower ready to burst in her chest.  _ Honestly, anything to get me out of this crummy conversation and away from the prick across from me _ . She sighed in relief, although the slight shift in Draco’s expression conveyed that that wasn’t quite what he interpreted from the action.

He cleared his throat and Hermione wondered just what he had to be nervous about. 

“I have a date card,” he began and--dear Merlin, was he  _ sweating? _ \-- ”and well, I was wondering--oh, sod it--Hermione, will you go with me?” Hermione felt the color drain from her face as she noticed three things all at once.

One: Draco was being sincere. His grey eyes darted nervously around and his hands couldn’t stop adjusting his suit which was  _ already  _ picture perfect, obviously--it was  _ Malfoy  _ we were talking about here. He was obviously nervous, and while theoretically, he  _ could  _ be nervous just because he was playing some sort of trick on her and was afraid she’d catch on, Hermione  _ knew  _ that this wasn’t the case. Malfoy was  _ much _ more suave than that when it came to trickery and manipulation; and, besides, his reputation couldn't really afford that at the moment. So that left her with the conclusion of Draco Malfoy actually  _ did  _ want her to accompany him on his date. The why she wouldn’t understand until  _ much  _ later, but she reasoned that it wasn’t really important right now, mainly because--

Two: Draco inviting her on a date with him made her... _ feel  _ some sort of way and while she was not in any type of mood or place to unpack  _ that _ , she also could not deny its existence. 

And, three: it made Ron absolutely  _ pissed _ .

So deduce what  _ you  _ will from her three observations, all that Hermione could deduce next was that she had a genuine desire to say yes.

She grinned at Draco and the man across from her squirmed and huffed angrily. 

“Sure Malfoy,” she agreed, rising from her seat and stepping closer to her date, “I’d  _ love _ to.”

“Oh  _ please _ ,” Ron growled, also rising from his seat, “You don’t mean that Hermione; you’re just pissed and trying to get back at  _ me  _ for it.” Hermione scoffed and linked her arm into the crook of Draco’s elbow.

“Please, Ron.” She rolled her eyes and felt herself being tucked in closer to Draco as he eyed the situation warily. “As  _ hard  _ as it is to believe, not everything is actually about  _ you _ .” Draco snorted at that and Hermione grinned, Ron’s ears turning red from tip to lobe at her comment. He shifted his focus towards Draco now, seeing as his approach with Hermione clearly wasn’t going the way that he wanted it to.

“She’s just using you, you know,” Ron informed him, and Draco’s body stiffened. “Using you as a pawn to get back at me--”

“I literally couldn't care less about what you think, Ron,” Hermione laughed, even though the statement itself was a lie. “Perhaps going away on a date just  _ sounds nice _ . Shocking, right?”

“You know it’s cruel to use another person to get back at an ex-boyfriend,” Ron goaded, stepping closer to them. Hermione could smell the rancid stench of alcohol on his breath and she scrunched herself nose in blatant distaste for the smell. “It’s definitely beneath you, Hermione.”

“Bloody hell, Ronald!” Hermione shrieked, and it was then that she noticed they’d gathered quite the audience. “For once in your life, this has  _ nothing to do with you _ ! Now, mind your own business and get your arse out of  _ mine. _ I can say yes to any date I please—and if it’s Malfoy who wants to take me out, well, I’m not one to turn down an invitation, Ron. So think whatever you want about my motivations—it’s not  _ your  _ opinion that matters.” 

She turned to Draco then, searching his face, and prayed to every deity she could think of that this wouldn't make him back out from their date. His face was stony now, concentrated, but his eyes flickered wildly between the two bickering exes. When the realization dawned on him that she meant she needed  _ his  _ opinion, she saw a slight brush grave his cheeks and he cleared his throat again. 

“Er,” he said, his free hand coming up behind his head and awkwardly ruffling through the tendrils of his white blonde hair. “I’d, um, still like to take you on a date—and rest assured, I don’t put much weight into a Weasel’s opinion.”

There were gasps and even  _ ooh’s  _ nearby. Hermione’s own eyes widened and Ron was practically shaking out of the corner of her eyes. 

He was always a prick when he got drunk. 

“Your fucking mistake, mate,” Ron laughed, shaking his head at the pair of them. “And just so you know, she’s an absolute  _ bitch _ when it comes to se—“

Hermione didn’t get to hear the rest of his sentence because in less than a fraction of a second, Draco had delicately pushed off her arm and crossed the short distance over to Ron, where he now held him by the collar. The two were evenly matched in height, but Ron had never looked shorter in his life. 

“I’m only going to say this once, so I suggest you let it pass through your thick head,” Draco threatened lowly and Hermione stood frozen in her place. She wondered if she should do something to break this up, but something told her that Draco wouldn’t let this get too far. “You’re allowed to stick your dick in whatever whore you want—you’ve made that  _ perfectly _ clear. What you’re  _ not  _ allowed to do is disrespect one of the brightest women that either of us has ever met. Do you  _ hear _ me, Weasley? If I hear the word ‘bitch’ ever come out of your mouth in reference to Hermione Granger again, St. Mungo’s won’t be able to repair the  _ damage.  _ Am I fucking clear?” 

Ginny gripped Hermione’s arm and she whipped her head towards her, eyes wide as saucers, nervous butterflies pounding against her rib cage. There was murder in Draco Malfoy’s eyes, and Hermione could hardly believe that  _ she _ was the cause of it. 

A memory stirred in her brain; a periwinkle dress, a ball, the smell of pumpkins—

“That sodding idiot,” Ginny hissed, pulling Hermione to her side. “Harry’s going to murder him—“

“Alright, alright,” Ron hissed, yanking away from Draco’s pull. His eyes were wide and Hermione wondered if he was remembering it, too… “We’re fucking  _ understood _ , okay?

“Beautiful,” Draco agreed, stepping back and glancing back towards Hermione. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s nearly past curfew, and we have a date in the morning.” He announced the last part to the rest of the room, where many wandering eyes were still following them. Hermione gulped as Draco offered her his arm again and she hesitantly took it. 

“Do you mind if I escort you to your room?” Draco asked quietly, head ducked towards hers intimately. Hermione blushed at the gesture and glanced around at the crowd surrounding, whom Ginny and Blaise were now dispersing. 

“N-no,” she stuttered, pulling herself in a little closer to him. “I don’t know where it is—“

“There are signs,” Draco answered, leading her away from the main room and towards the door he’d led her out of earlier. “Besides, I have a feeling I  _ may  _ be able to navigate my way around this place.” He winked at her and the gesture sent a chill straight up her spine, her hands subconsciously tightening around the fabric of his suit coat. 

“Thank you,” Hermione responded quietly, scanning the hallway and observing the Manor’s new, bright decor. The pictures hanging on the walls weren’t magical, she noticed, and it took her by so great a surprise that she stopped walking for a moment. 

Draco halted with her and released her arm, coming around the front of her and leveling his face with hers.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, and Hermione couldn’t help but believe that he was sincere about  _ that  _ too. The whole damn thing was mind boggling; Draco defending her, his  _ mother  _ of all people being positively lovely, Draco asking her on her first  _ date  _ here. 

It felt like a dream; a confusing, twisted dream.

“It’s all just…” her voice gave out in a series of awkward noises as she struggled to find the right words. “A lot, I suppose.” That was all she seemed to be able to say and Draco’s stoic expression wasn’t helping to put her at ease in the slightest. 

Finally, he nodded and returned to her side, taking her arm again as they continued their stroll down the hallway. Hermione took in the obviously Muggle paintings, a variety of feelings mixing together in her stomach like a potion in a cauldron—too intertwined and permanent to recognize which ingredient was which. She quite liked the absence of magical paintings, but it confused her greatly when she realized that most of these were done by Muggle artists. Was it just for George’s show? Was it all a ploy to get back into the good graces of the Wizarding World yet again? Or was this Narcissa’s actual taste? Was this  _ Draco’s  _ actual taste? How could she even find that out? Was this—

“I’m sorry,” Draco interrupted Hermione’s rapid fire thoughts, and she blinked her glazed-over eyes, peeking back over at him to find him staring straight ahead impassively. “I realize I must have caught you quite off guard when I asked you on this date with me—and I’m sure it didn’t help that I threatened to rearrange your friend’s face.”

Hermione snorted at that and Draco glanced over at her, his face still unreadable. She produced a small, tight-lipped smile and sighed tiredly. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Ron,” she reassured, frowning as Draco led them up a grand staircase. “Besides, we’re hardly friends at the moment.”

“Because you’re still in love with him?”

Hermione stopped walking immediately and withdrew her arm, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly and angrily. Draco paused too, and turned around to gawk at her. 

“Why does everybody think that I’m still in love with Ron?” She screeched, throwing her hands up in the air exasperatedly and stomping her foot once impatiently. “For the love of Merlin, I am  _ not  _ in love with Ronald Weasley!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco apologized sincerely, holding his hand back out to her. “I just assumed—I’m sure that everybody assumed because, well, most everybody was rooting for the two of you to be together, so, it came as quite a shock when your engagement was called off. And you seemed—“ He stopped himself short, dropping his arm when he realized that Hermione wasn’t taking it. 

“I seemed what?” Hermione prodded, gently, wanting to hear what he had to say.  _ Because he was an outsider _ , she assured herself.  _ Not because it was  _ Draco’s _ perspective, no, just because he was an outside opinion to the relationship.  _

Draco hesitated and Hermione waited for his answer with baited breath. 

“Heartbroken,” he finally whispered, silver eyes trained on hers with the sole intent on getting a read on her emotions. Hermione dropped her head, her curls falling down in a curtain around her face. 

“Well, I was,” she admitted, staring at the marble staircase underneath her feet. It was green—Slytherin green, obviously . “I did love him, but—oh bloody hell, it hardly matters anymore. All that matters is I  _ don’t  _ anymore, alright?”

She dared to look back up at Draco’s face and he nodded mechanically, still not allowing Hermione to get any sort of insight into his own emotions.

She didn’t like that very much at all. 

“I believe the rooms are this way,” Draco answered, holding his arm out to her one last time. Hermione took it this time and he led her in silence all the way to a hallway of doors, where each one had a different name magically engraved into it. 

Hers was at the end of the hallway, right next to  **Pansy Parkinson-designer.** Hermione’s lips turned up anxiously. Draco side eyed her before he simply nodded, turning on his heel casually to leave. 

“Malfoy?” Hermione called, mentally beating herself up for even caring. She watched Draco stiffen as his name was called and he looked back over his shoulder at her. She shuffled her heels against the carpet, embarrassed. “Why... _ did  _ you ask me on the date? Is it just to...you know, clear your name? Regain a good reputation?” The words may have sounded mean by themselves, but Hermione’s tone betrayed her insecurity. 

Maybe that was why Malfoy decided to answer her.

Maybe it was something else. 

“I...have my reasons,” he simply said, turning back around so she couldn’t see his face anymore. “I hope someday that’s not the first thing that comes to your mind, Granger.”

And then he was down the hall and out of sight. 

Hermione felt a deep sense of longing; but for what, she couldn’t quite figure out. All she knew was she had a sudden urge to see his face again, and that was as far as she would allow herself to go. 

She stepped into the bedroom and sighed as she leaned against the door, shutting her eyes away from the weariness of the day. She contemplated just lying down right there on the floor and falling asleep, but even  _ she  _ had some more dignity than  _ that _ . Her eyes wandered over to the large dresser and desk, where a large note sat atop it. She scooted her way over and snatched it off, fluttering it open carefully with her thumb.

Miss Granger,

Tomorrow morning breakfast will begin at 7:30. You will depart for your date at 8:00.

She simply sighed.

She meandered over to the large bathroom—this one room was bigger than her entire apartment—and eyed the large tub before deciding to just head onto bed. On the counter were things to cleanse her face and to her left was a large closet to hang her used clothes. She noticed there were a few ensembles in it, but nothing she cared to explore right now. 

She took off her clothes and took a quick shower, noting the expensive shampoos and washes left there for her. They smelled like mint and lavender--a combination that tended to relax her instantly.

She sighed as the warm water rushed down over her shoulder blader, soaking her hair and falling past her hips. She closed her eyes against the stream and spent longer than necessary just sitting under the water, brain completely shut off, as she just enjoyed the feel and the relaxation.

When she began to feel her muscles become too fatigued to stand, she hurried out of the shower, wrapped herself in the large, fluffy towel, and sank against the floor of the tub.

She shut her eyes and leaned her head against the door of the shower, her mind running through the events of the day. Why  _ had _ Draco asked her on the date? Why was he even  _ here _ ? Was he really friends with Harry, and why didn’t Harry ever  _ tell  _ her about it? Why was Narcissa so interested in the way those women treated her at her job? Just... _ why?  _

She figured she knew why Draco had come on the show, at the very least; he obviously was looking for some form of redemption, and what better way to do it than to publicize it on George’s new television show? If everybody here, especially the Weasley’s, were okay with him, then what did he really have to lose anyway? That made perfect sense; it even made sense to think that he was only asking her out on the date as a means to an end in his huge redemption plan. If  _ she  _ could think he was alright, then the entirety of the whole wizarding world has no reason to shun him any longer. She  _ was  _ a Muggleborn, after all--the wizarding world’s most  _ important  _ Muggleborn. It stands to reason.

Her head began to hurt, so instead of thinking anymore about it, she stood up from her place on the floor, sufficiently dried off, and changed into the baby pink  _ silk  _ pajamas that she found in her closet. They hung to her form tightly, but still loosely enough to be comfortable, and she flung herself under the large comforter of the bed. 

She was asleep before she could even remember to turn off the light.

🌹

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she found Pansy Parkinson across the room at her desk, her dark hair styled back into a sleek, curly ponytail and bright green eyes studying a short red dress on a mannequin. 

Hermione did a double take—nope, she was in the right room. 

“What...” she pursed her lips, “are you doing here?” Pansy jumped, obviously lost in thought before, and then gave Hermione a brilliant smile as she rushed over to her. 

“ _ You _ , ma’am,” she squealed, pulling Hermione out of bed with a shriek and over to the mirror, frantically positioning her in front of it. “You will sing at my wedding one day—what the  _ hell _ Hermione, where has that voice  _ been for our entire lives?”  _ Pansy’s volume was getting ridiculously high and Hermione winced at her shrill tone right near her ears. 

“Nowhere,” Hermione yawned, glancing at the clock. 6:30 a.m. She groaned. 

Pansy pursed her lips in disapproval and began tugging at her pajamas, to which Hermione recoiled and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

“Merlin, Hermione, calm the hell down,” Pansy rebuked, pulling her back over to her and undoing her buttons. “There aren’t any cameras in here, and, besides-- we’ve got to get you into your outfit for your date with  _ Draco _ .”

“Don’t say it like that,” Hermione gumbled, watching as her cheeks flushed red in the mirror. Pansy’s cheshire grin only grew until she began to giggle, pulling Hermione’s hair up and out of the way as Hermione shimmied out of her silky pants. Pansy wriggled her eyebrows at her and Hermione couldn’t help but smile back at her--but she did shake her head to let her know that she wasn’t  _ happy  _ with herself at the moment.

“Like  _ what _ ?” Pansy giggled again, twirling her finger to summon the red dress over to them. Hermione hissed out a breath as they pulled it up and over her head, the fit perfect as it settled onto her hips. Pansy began to button up the back, and Hermione ran her own eyes over her figure in the mirror.

“Like it _means something_ ,” Hermione replied back with a hiss between her teeth, smoothing the folds of the dress down with her palms. “It doesn’t _mean anything,_ it just--is. It just _exists_ , okay?” She admired the way the dress hung against her hips, falling down to her knees and flaring out at the ends. This one was again short-sleeved, and lower cut than last night’s dress. She frowned at the cleavage but figured she wouldn’t get much of a say in the matter.  
“Well, if it doesn’t _mean_ anything, then why did you agree to it in the first place?” Pansy questioned, pulling at Hermione’s hair perhaps a _little bit_ harder than necessary, eliciting a squeal out of her. She frowned down at Hermione’s head, Hermione watching all of this in the mirror. “I like you well enough, Hermione, but Draco _is_ one of my best friends. If this is some way to humiliate him, or get back at Ron, I’d strongly advise that you cancel the date _now_.” 

Pansy’s tone sounded sweet but Hermione could feel the iciness behind her words and it sent a chill through her veins. The two women locked eyes with each other in the mirror and she could see the unspoken threat in Pansy’s gaze. Hermione swallowed a breath because admittedly, she had agreed to the date because Ron was being a right tosser and she knew that it would make him angry.

But that wasn’t the only reason. She also found herself... _ intrigued _ by Malfoy lately. Wondering where he’d been for the last six months, if he and Harry were truly  _ friends _ , why he was suddenly defending her and asking her out--

“I’m not much of a liar Pansy,” Hermione started out shakily, watching as the woman’s hands wove her hair into a tight, sleek, and curly ponytail. “I’ll admit that the idea of Ron being upset is a nice one--especially after the way he treated me yesterday. But I guess I can also admit that some part of me--some sick and twisted part, surely--sort of, kind of,  _ maybe  _ wants to see what a date with Draco Malfoy would be like?” Hermione’s voice trailed off towards the end of her sentence, embarrassed. She could still barely admit to  _ herself  _ that she was intrigued by Draco, and here she was blabbing it out to one of his  _ closest friends _ .

Pansy studied her in the mirror, all the while intertwining her fingers in her ponytail, perfecting the spirals that were hanging down to her mid back. She seemed to come to some sort of consensus and nodded, twirling Hermione around to face her as she summoned over a large bag.

“Alright,” she accepted, pulling out makeup brushes and beginning to work on her face. “Just--don’t be too harsh on him, alright?” Pansy hesitated,drawing in a deep breath as she held a makeup brush contemplatively over Hermione’s face. “I know he did some stupid shit when he was younger, but understand that he was mostly brainwashed by his father. “

Hermione stirred uncomfortably, causing Pansy to still her with her hands and shoot her a glare. “Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, shutting her eyes at Pansy’s command and wincing as the feather-light brush swooped across her eyelids. “I just-- I mean, I get that Pansy, I really do. Lucius Malfoy is a racist, abhorrent, and  _ manipulative _ man--but at some point, Draco does have to take accountability for his own actions.” Pansy was silent as she continued her work on Hermione’s face, this time taking longer than the last time. Hermione almost felt as if she should amend something she said, or add to it, but Pansy beat her to the punch.

“There are a lot of reparations and amends that he did make after the war,” she assured quietly, pulling away from Hermione’s face. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and she watched the raven-haired woman pack up her brushes the Muggle way, pursing her deep, cherry red lips in thought. “I could make you a damn  _ list  _ of all of the things he’s done to make amends for the wrongs that he’s committed, of all of the things that he’s done to change his world and  _ himself _ . Unfortunately, it’s just not my place; if he wants to tell you, then he will.” She turned back to Hermione then and gave her a bright smile. “Just--promise me you’ll give him a second chance. If he fucks it up now, that’s on him; but, hear him out?”

Hermione contemplated it; anxiety bubbled up in her chest at the thought of even  _ talking  _ to Draco Malfoy about his part in the war. She wished more than anything that Harry was here, if only so she could fact check the claims that he and Draco were actually  _ friends _ . By the way that Ginny had acted yesterday, it seemed very likely that they  _ were _ ; but then, why had he never  _ once  _ mentioned it to her? Surely Harry could care less about the judgments of others, and although she knew that he valued her opinion, she also knew that he doesn’t give any mind to people opposing those that he chooses to associate himself with. 

Then there was the fact that Draco just  _ seemed  _ different, all-in-all. He was suddenly defending her against Ron and Helga, seeking out  _ her  _ company, being kind to her, treating like,  _ like _ \--

Well, like an  _ equal _ .

“Okay,” Hermione finally answered, as Pansy handed her a delicate and antique handheld mirror. Hermione gasped lightly as Pansy handed it to her, taken aback by its intricateness and beauty. She grasped it with nimble fingers and held onto it tightly. “I’ll give him a chance to explain himself.”

Pansy frowned; Hermione knew that this wasn’t exactly what she had meant, but that was all she could give to her right now. 

Once Hermione realized that Pansy wasn’t answering her, she lifted the mirror up to her face and gasped at her own reflection. Pansy had coated her in a bit more makeup than yesterday, still careful not to change her overall natural appearance. The main difference today was the dark red lipstick set to match her dress, which somehow managed to bring out her eyes, plump her lips, and draw attention to her cleavage all at the same time.

“Godric, I didn’t think that I could ever pull off this color,” Hermione noted, entranced by the way her mouth looked when she talked. Pansy only winked at her as she finished wrapping up her makeup tools and hoisting her bag over her shoulder.

“Your mirror,” Hermione called out as Pansy began to leave the room. She turned around then and her eyes fell from Hermione’s face down to the antique mirror that she still held in her hands. 

“You hang onto that for a while,” Pansy suggested, twisting the doorknob and gracing her with a small smile. “It looks good on you anyway.” Hermione opened her mouth to--bloody hell, she didn’t even know--correct her wording, ask about the mirror, question her, refuse, thank her? But by the time that her mouth decided to form the actual words, Pansy had already left.

With a heaving sigh, Hermione set the mirror down on the desk and faced towards the door, slipping into the white flats that Pansy had left there for her. She glanced behind her once more to catch a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror, and then headed down the long corridor towards the main room.

George had done well with steering the contestants in the right direction; rose petals lined the hallways leading to the areas that they were allowed to be in, and everywhere else was shrouded in darkness.  _ Like Hansel and Gretel _ , she mused. Hermione followed the rose petals down the stairs that she remembered taking with Draco the night before, absently noting that this floor only held the women’s rooms. She wondered where the men’s were, and then wondered how Draco knew where the women’s were. 

Hermione shook her head, because she was thinking too _damn_ much about Draco Malfoy.

She couldn’t help but feel like she was actually  _ strutting  _ as she pushed open the double doors to the main room. She wasn’t the first to arrive--in fact, Ginny was waving her over to a nearby table as she entered--but she noticed that she wasn’t the last to arrive either. Just how she preferred it.

For a second--just for a second-- she remembered just where she was and that her every move was being watched by millions on television. She blushed at the thought and then immediately after, panic overtook her. 

She had just agreed to a  _ date  _ with Draco Malfoy on  _ national television _ . There were probably going to be people watching this very moment on Saturday, forming opinions as she merely sat down in the chair opposite Ginny and ordered breakfast from a kind, and apparently freed, house elf. People were either rooting for or against the two of them, and her money was on the latter. She was more than likely being judged fairly harshly by the majority of the viewers, and she couldn’t necessarily say that she blamed them. Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater once, after all. Who could  _ really  _ say where his allegiances truly lied at the moment?

Oh, Godric; why had she said  _ yes _ ?

“Hermione,” Ginny’s voice broke into her friend’s thoughts, startling her. Hermione spilled a little bit of tea on her hand and absentmindedly shook it off. “Have you been listening to a single word I said?” Guiltily, Hermione’s eyes slid over to Ginny and she winced.

“I--” she swallowed guiltily and took a comforting sip of her tea. “No, Ginny, I’m sorry; my thoughts are sort of overtaking me at the moment.”

Ginny smirked at her then and took a large bite out of her breakfast sandwich. “I can imagine so,” she agreed through a mouthful of eggs, cheese, and bacon. “You’re going on a date with a young,  _ attractive  _ man. Who could blame you for being nervous?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped incredulously; who  _ was  _ this person, and since when did she talk about  _ Draco Sodding Malfoy  _ this way? What happened to  _ he’s a bloody Death Eater  _ and  _ he’s scum on the bottom of his own shoe?  _ Why was the conversation now,  _ hey, he’s attractive? _

Hermione’s mind was quite boggled. 

“ _ That _ certainly isn’t why I’m nervous, Gin,” Hermione frowned as she began to pick and nibble at the fruit on her plate. “I'm nervous because this is  _ Malfoy  _ we’re talking about here; you know, cursed-Katie-Bell, let-Death-Eaters-into-Hogwarts Malfoy?” Ginny scoffed and Hermione almost felt offended.

“Do you really believe that he’s still all of those things, Hermione?” Ginny questioned, brown eyes scrutinizing her to her core. Hermione glared back at her and then tried to play off her emotions and confusion with a shrug.

“Merlin, don’t you?” She shot back, flustered. Ginny shook her head almost instantly and Hermione hadn’t felt more confused probably in her entire life at this point. “So all of... _ that  _ earlier, that reverie with Malfoy, that wasn’t an act for the show? The two of you are  _ actually  _ friends?”

“Well, somewhat,” Ginny confirmed, and Hermione felt anxiously nauseous. “Friends is probably a generous term; but he and Harry are probably just as close as he and Ron are at this point. Harry’s going to start telling people here soon, but he doesn’t want to throw Malfoy back into the spotlight too early, you know?”

“No,” Hermione laughed, covering her face with her hand to try and calm herself down, reason with herself. “No, I’m beginning to think that I don’t know anything.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Ginny sounded sincere and she took Hermione’s hand encouragingly. “I know it’s a lot, and I know that it’s confusing. You’ll figure it out, and I’ll supply what you can’t.”

Hermione couldn’t even  _ begin  _ to unpack that; and then, luckily or unluckily, she caught the sight of Draco out of the corner of her eye. 

He was wearing  _ Muggle  _ clothes; dark blue jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt. Merlin help her, it was the most attractive she’d ever seen him.

_ Okay, fine. Draco Malfoy is an attractive human being. That’s as far as this thought is going, _ she admitted grumpily, sinking down lower into her seat when she realized that he was searching for  _ her _ .

Godric, she was  _ not  _ ready.

“Come on Hermione,” Ginny encouraged, rising from her seat and extending a hand to help Hermione out of hers. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Cheesy,” Hermione hissed, even as she felt her face heat up in embarrassment, “That’s far too cheesy, Gin.” Ginny giggled, and led Hermione hand-in-hand over to Draco who, when he caught sight of Hermione, sucked in a deep breath and suddenly became very fidgety.

Not that anybody noticed but  _ Ginny _ , obviously.

“Granger,” Draco greeted her as they approached, side-eyeing Ginny who, unbeknownst to Hermione, flashed him a wink as she walked away. “You look…I mean…..that-- _ you _ \--” Draco huffed out a frustrated little sound and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “That is a flattering dress,” he finally settled on, visibly wincing as he took in Hermione’s unimpressed gaze.

“Um, thanks,” Hermione snorted, with a roll of her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest uncomfortably. “Do you, um, do you know where we’re supposed to go?” Hermione’s nervous energy seemed to be affecting Draco, of which Draco noticed she was blissfully unaware.

“I know that there’s a car waiting for us outside; but beyond that, no, I haven’t the faintest clue,” Draco answered, jaw suddenly set tightly against his chin. He seemed to be a bit put off by the fact that he had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, and the mere observation almost completely obliterated Hermione’s anxiety. If Draco didn’t know, he couldn’t have a leg up on her. She always did hate when she wasn’t the party planning the dates. 

Draco’s eyes flickered back to hers then with a nervous sort of half smile planted forcefully onto his face. “Are you ready to go then?” He asked, holding his arm out to her to test the waters. Hermione stared at it with a frown for a long time, knowing all too well just whose arm she was taking, before the voices of Ginny and Pansy began to flood her head.

“ _ Just--promise me you’ll give him a second chance. _ ” 

“ _ He and Harry are probably just as close as he and Ron are at this point. _ ”

Confusion. All that she could make out in her own brain was how damn  _ confused  _ she was. And, not to mention, she didn’t even want to be here in the  _ first place! _

She took a deep breath. Focus on one problem at a time.

Reluctantly, she cuddled her arm in the crook of Draco’s, right before he was about to drop it completely. She didn’t register his relief, or notice that his smile changed to something more genuine as he led her towards the main exit and out of the manor completely.

🌹

The car ride to their destination was torturously awkward. They sat on opposite sides of the limo from each other, each watching out of their respective windows in complete, horribly awkward, silence. Hermione could have cut the tension with the knife.

But it sure as hell beat  _ this _ .

“Malfoy, there is absolutely no way I’m doing this,” Hermione hissed, sulking in a corner, and paranoidly glancing about the room. “These people are  _ professionals _ and I  _ cannot dance _ .”

To his credit, Malfoy wasn’t really annoyed with her--he was only  _ amused _ .

“Come on, Granger,” he teased, an annoying little smirk permanently planted on his  _ stupid  _ perfectly sculpted cheeks. She noticed his left cheek dimpled when he smiled like that and she wanted to growl at how unfair  _ that  _ was.

How could she keep hating him when his bloody cheek  _ dimpled _ like that?

“Well fine,” Draco playfully sighed, “We can skulk here against this wall. For the next two hours. And cry about how we hate dancing and what a stupid idea for a date this is. That sounds super fun.”

“You’re being rude,” Hermione hissed, shooting him a glare and defiantly lifting up her chin at him. Draco looked over at her and mimicked her position on the wall with a mischievous smile on his face. “ _ Stop it _ .”

“Oh come on Granger,” Draco chuckled, pushing off from the wall and moving to stand in front of her. He reached out an inviting hand, wiggling his fingers teasingly, and cocked his head toward the dance floor. “I never took you for one to back down from a challenge.”

Hermione’s blood boiled; she  _ wasn’t  _ one to back down from a challenge and she’d be damned if she let  _ Draco Malfoy _ of all sodding people think that. 

“I’m not,” she hissed, grabbing his hand and forcefully pulling  _ him  _ behind  _ her  _ as she led him out onto the dance floor where ten other couples were already dancing and  _ supposedly  _ having fun. Most of them shot them nervous glances--confused, likely, as to why Hermione Granger was here with  _ Draco Malfoy _ . Their instructor gave her a welcoming smile and it took every ounce of kindness left in her to smile back.

George had arranged for them to take a class with a local wizarding ballroom dance team as they practiced; now why did he do that to  _ her  _ of all people?

Merlin, she couldn’t think of a single reason.

“Malfoy, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Hermione admitted, clenching onto his hand a little harder than necessary out of her own fear. Draco didn’t seem to mind and smiled down at his partner. 

“Like this,” he whispered, twirling their hands so that hers now rested atop his shoulder and his hung softly at her waist before his fingers curled around it gently, his lips pursed nervously, as if he were afraid that he was going to break her. He entwined their free hands and pulled her much closer to him than she was expecting. 

Their bodies began to sway slowly at first, before Draco picked up the pace and led her around the room in a waltz type dance. Hermione struggled to keep up, smashing his toes on several occasions and even managing to knock their heads together on one. She even had the instructor coming over  _ multiple  _ times to correct Hermione’s posture. Each time she left with a frown and murmured, “I don’t know how they expect me to fix that one so quickly.” Hermione pretended not to hear, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away and Draco leaned in close to her ear, his lips barely hovering above it and giving her goosebumps all along her body.

“Don’t pay her any mind,” Draco encouraged, and Hermione noticed his thumb was rubbing a soothing circle into her hip, and she wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or subconsciously but she found it  _ intoxicating _ .

And that terrified her. 

Hermione stepped away from his hold, breaking their contact completely and crossing her arms over her chest in embarrassment. 

“I told you that I didn’t want to do this,” she hissed, her upper teeth digging into her lower lip viciously as she begged herself not to cry. All she could think about were the thousands of people who would watch this scene, watch her fumble, unable to get her footing as she gave the world another reason to think that she was an embarrassment.

Not to mention what they would already say about her being here with  _ Draco _ .

“Hermione,” Draco murmured, stepping into her circle again. She stepped out immediately and her hands instantly went to her head, nails digging into her scalp stressfully. 

“Merlin, Malfoy, I didn’t even want to  _ do  _ this--”

“I know,” Draco answered calmly, trying to hide the panic behind his eyes. “You’ve said that you don’t like dancing--”

“Not the  _ dancing  _ Draco, this  _ date _ ,” Hermione hissed, beginning to pace as the instructor desperately tried to reign the other couples away from the two of them. “Godric, I don’t even necessarily  _ like  _ you, Draco! I don’t know why I even agreed to this.” She shook her head and rushed away, grabbing a cup of water and chugging it ungracefully, letting some of it fall down the front of her dress. 

Draco stood nearby cautiously, studying her as if he weren’t sure what he was supposed to do now. 

“Hermione,” he started, placing a hand on her elbow placatingly, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t  _ call  _ me that,” Hermione hissed, breaking away from his hold with a steely gaze. “You’ve called me  _ Mudblood  _ for seven years, you don’t get to call me by my  _ name  _ now.” Draco visibly recoiled and, although she didn’t think he could get any paler, all of the blood drained from his face.

“If you’re expecting me to get upset and revert back to my old ways, you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” Draco said with pure monotony, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. “I don’t intend on wishing you any ill will, nor will I use that term, Hermione.”

“Oh  _ bollocks  _ with the ‘ _ you’ve changed _ ’ bullshit,” Hermione hissed, daring to come closer to him, close enough that their noses were nearly touching. “I have yet to hear you say or do  _ anything  _ that constitutes an apology, or even a bloody  _ thank you _ for what we did for you!”

“You can’t expect a  _ child _ who was brainwashed by his father’s ideals to be kind to somebody he was taught to  _ hate _ , Hermione,” Draco hissed, taking her closeness as a challenge and narrowing his silver eyes at her. She huffed back at him and backed off a little bit, suddenly intimidated by how….. _ heated _ she felt at the moment. 

“That was a shitty apology,” Hermione replied, jutting out her chin and clutching the ends of her dress comfortingly. Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, moving up the sleeves of his shirt and exposing his biceps. 

“That’s because it  _ wasn’t  _ an apology,” Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair again and effectively distracting Hermione once again. “And if you’d just stop throwing a tantrum for  _ five minutes _ , Hermione, you’d see that I’ve been trying to  _ actually _ apologize since we got to this ridiculous tv show. Merlin, Hermione, I know I’m absolute  _ shit  _ at these things, but I’m bloody  _ sorry,  _ alright? For everything I’ve ever done. I’d list them, but Salazar knows we’d be here for the next  _ year _ .” Hermione was stunned silent; she tried to read his face, looking for  _ any  _ and all signs of deception, but she couldn't find any. He seemed...genuine. He actually seemed  _ sincere _ .

“I’ve wanted to apologize before,” he grumbled, looking away from her then and shuffling his feet anxiously. “I just didn’t know how--I mean, how does one apologize for  _ everything  _ that I’ve ever done? There’s no apology in the  _ world _ \--” Hermione’s heart threatened to leap out of her throat when Draco’s voice actually  _ broke _ \-- ”There’s no apology in the world that’s good enough to cover all of the things that happened to you, Hermione.” He wouldn’t look at her and she suspected it was because he didn’t want to cry. Memories flashed in her head—Harry being his friend, Draco defending her not once but  _ twice _ , his mother welcoming her with open arms, Draco asking her to accompany him here—

It was so damn confusing, but one thing she could clear in her mind; he was being sincere and he was  _ actually  _ apologizing to her. Right now. And he knew, he  _ knew  _ he couldn’t make it better but he was still trying. 

“Not a single thing I can say to make it better, or fix it, or forget it, or erase it, or  _ anything _ . There’s not an apology good enough--”

“There is,” Hermione interrupted quietly, stepping back into his space, watching as his eyes fell back onto her again. “It was that one.” Draco’s jaw fell slightly and Hermione offered him a warm smile.

She didn’t know how it made his heart melt.

“You--you accept my apology?” Draco asked, and his tone was so hopeful it hurt her to know he cared that much. Hurt and satisfied her all the same. “Do you--am I forgiven?”

“Let’s be clear,” Hermione answered, stepping back and cocking her head. “This is your one and  _ only  _ chance, Malfoy. If you mess up, this….. _ friendship  _ is over with. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Draco answered, his grin returning to his face. “Let’s get you some more water--and, here--your dress is still wet.” Draco proceeded to get Hermione a glass of water and summoned the instructor to perform a drying charm on her front. When he was satisfied that she had calmed down, he said, “Should we, um, return to our date then?”

“Oh,” Hermione answered with a wince, glancing back to where all of the dancers had returned to a tango. “I didn’t lie about that-- I  _ really  _ don’t dance, Draco. And I don’t think I should embarrass myself any further on tv anyways.” Draco seemed to be pondering something for a minute before he grinned at her once more.

“Wait here,” he pleaded, patting her elbow and rushing over to the instructor. She watched as they bantered about something for a second, and from the looks of it, he was clearly  _ charming  _ her if her cherry-red blush and shy grin was anything to go off.

It made her feel some sort of way. Some sort of way she pushed back into the deep recesses of her mind.

Suddenly, a very upbeat, Muggle song began to play and Draco hurried back to her, taking her by the hands and pulling her out to the center of the floor. The other dancers cleared away and clung to the corners, watching curiously as Draco began to bob lightly to the beat.

“What in Godric’s name are you doing?” Hermione giggled, unable to help herself as Draco pulled her in and began to swing her around effortlessly. Hermione squealed in surprise as Draco twirled her around his back, her hair and dress fanning out and the energy making her feel absolutely giddy inside. 

“It’s called swing dancing,” Draco informed her, twirling her until he had her in a position with her back against his chest and their arms crossed over her belly. “It’s a Muggle form of dancing.”

“I  _ know  _ that,” Hermione insisted, “The question is, how do  _ you  _ know that?” She felt his shrug from behind her and suddenly, his voice was in her ear, his breath tickling her sensitive spot behind her ear. 

“You need to loosen up, Granger,” he whispered, swaying her with him to the beat. It was like she had no choice  _ but  _ to be in rhythm with him. “Have some fun every once in a while.” She began to protest when he suddenly unwound her away from him, her dress flying every which way as she spun away and then back into him again.

“You’re quite good at this,” she complimented, blushing as he threw her a wink and began to twist and turn her some more.

“Why Granger, I  _ do  _ believe that that is a compliment,” Draco noticed, pulling her back into him in a classic slow-dancing embrace as he slowed down the pace a bit so he could speak to her properly. “This is my favorite swing-dancing song. It’s very…light. Fun.”

It  _ was  _ very light and fun. Hermione felt like they were dancing on air and, even though she knew it was Draco who was doing all of the work and making her look good, the way that they moved together actually did make her feel like a decent dancer. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel…incompetent. 

“So what’s yours, Granger?”

Hermione shook her head back to reality to find Draco gazing down at her, a question in his eyes.

“What’s mine?” She asked quizzically, but Draco only nodded his head, offering no further clarification to the question that she’d apparently missed. “I’m sorry, but what’s my  _ what _ ?” Draco chuckled lightly as he subconsciously pulled her in tighter, the sides of their faces hanging mere inches from each other as they swayed to the beat.

“Your song,” he answered simply, “The one that you can’t help but dance to alone in your room with your hairbrush. And don’t tell me you don’t have one,  _ everybody  _ has one.” Hermione blushed even as he read her mind.

She sighed; she  _ did  _ have one, of course, but it was far too personal even if Draco  _ was  _ being a lovely date. 

“I’d have to think more about that,” she said instead, their bodies coming to a stop as the music ended. “Can I get back to you on that?”

Draco shrugged. “Sure thing, Granger--but I expect an answer someday,” he teased, his eyes lighting up as another swing tune began to play. “Alright Granger--one more.”

🌹

One more had turned into six or seven more, and she’d let Draco spin her round and round until their time was up and they had to go get ready for the evening portion of their date. She was wont to admit that she was actually decently  _ excited  _ about this evening. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t actually having a bit of fun--and she’d never been on a date with somebody as polite and  _ gentlemanly  _ as Draco had been all day.

There were things she wanted to ask him about, sure. And this didn’t fix everything they had behind them...but it was a good start to wanting to.

“Your hair held up!” Pansy shrieked excitedly as she entered Hermione’s room to dress her for the dinner portion of their date. “You look--whoa, I’ll be damned; you actually have a  _ smile  _ on your face, Hermione.” 

Hermione felt herself blushing furiously and she lifted a hand to her cheek. Indeed, she  _ did  _ have a smile on her face. She couldn’t help it.

“Well, we actually did have a decently good time,” Hermione admitted, helping Pansy shrug off the dress and undo her ponytail. “Did you know that Malfoy is practiced in some Muggle dance?”

“I didn’t, but it doesn’t quite surprise me,” Pansy responded, biting her lip and helping Hermione get into a tight white sweater and nice fitted blue jeans. She began mussing with her hair, choosing to leave it down and fixing up her makeup. “Draco is knowledgeable in... _ many _ things.”

The implications of  _ that  _ statement made Hermione squirm.

“Why do I feel like that was an innuendo?” Hermione asked, not really knowing if she wanted to hear the answer. Pansy laughed and gave Hermione a once over.

“Because it was, a little bit,” Pansy giggled, pulling something out of her pocket once she decided that Hermione looked good enough.

“Pansy,” Hermione called out before she could stop herself. Pansy’s fingers paused in their unwrapping endeavours and she glanced up at Hermione curiously. “Do you love Malfoy?” Pansy toyed with the cloth in her hands for a second before she took a deep breath.

“Yes,” she finally answered, “But, not romantically. We’re really good friends Hermione, and that’s it. Those three Slytherin boys and I are all that way. Blaise, Theo, Draco, and myself. Although the three of them are sodding  _ idiots  _ sometimes, they’re the brothers I’ve never had. And that’s as far as it goes.”

Hermione thought, for a moment, to her own two idiot boys with a large smile on her face.

“Pansy, I’m beginning to think we’re not all that different,” Hermione admitted, watching as Pansy’s face lit up. 

“I would agree.” She beamed at Hermione and then uncovered a little thimble from the cloth. “This is your Portkey; I suspect Draco is already there waiting for you. Have fun,” she finished off with a wink and Hermione grasped the portkey in her hand, feeling herself be whisked away from her bedroom to--

A beach somewhere, she presumed. It was quite dark outside and there were very few people on it, but it was warm and a few meters ahead of her, there was a campfire. 

And Draco, with his back turned to her.

She smiled and found her legs rushing her over to him rather quickly, but she couldn’t startle him; Slytherins were constantly vigilant, she remembered, 

“Granger,” he greeted with a smile, ushering her over to the campfire as she shivered. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied with a smile, noting Draco’s own outfit. A dark sweater and jeans. “You, um, you do too.” Draco didn’t respond but with a smile of his own as he began to dig out a picnic basket full of--wine, sandwiches, desserts, and plenty of snacks. Hermione warmly smiled as he picked a place near the fire for them to sit and began preparing her a sandwich. 

“A picnic on the beach at nighttime,” she observed, shivering as the wind blew her hair away from her face. “How cliche.”

“I find it a rather good cliche,” Draco argued, handing her a cup of wine and some kind of sandwich. She took a bite and was pleasantly surprised to find it was a simple peanut butter and jam sandwich. “Don’t you?”

Hermione only blushed and nodded, letting herself look out over the water and enjoy the night. It  _ was  _ a rather romantic scene, and stirred up a plethora of emotions from deep within her belly. Nostalgia, longing, happiness,  _ hope _ \--

“Why did you ask me on your date?” She asked suddenly, shifting her eyes back to Draco. He sipped his wine gracefully and shrugged, his face never once betraying his true thoughts. 

“I’d like us to be some sort of friends, Granger,” he admitted, and she clutched her wine glass, trying to look as suave and smooth as he did whilst drinking it. “And though I know I hardly deserve it, I’d like to earn your forgiveness, even if all we can ever be is civil.”

“But you’d like...to be more than civil?” Hermione prodded. She was unsure of what he was trying to say, or what she  _ wanted  _ him to say. The idea of a friendship with Draco Malfoy still seemed..a bit preposterous, if she were being honest, but for some odd reason she was intrigued by the idea of it. The little fourth year, fifth year, and sixth year girl who held out hope for him was returning, and she didn’t quite want to squash her down just yet.

Draco eyed her suspiciously, scrutinizing her motives, she was certain. He took cautious sips of his wine and finally began to make himself a sandwich before he answered her. 

“Yes,” he confessed between sips of wine and tentative pulls at his sandwich. “I’d like to be friends, Granger, if it’s possible.” Hermione realized she liked that answer and smiled at him, although there was some nagging feeling from deep within herself that warned her he wasn’t being completely upfront about his motives. She ignored it; the feeling wasn’t one that warned of bad motives, just one of--

_ Wishful thinking, _ she scolded herself,  _ and besides, you aren’t a schoolgirl anymore. _

“I think that it is possible,” she reassured him, unable to meet his smile or his eyes. She blushed at the sand and picked away at her sandwich, listening as Draco turned the conversation to peanut butter sandwiches and why they deserved a bigger spot in the wizarding community.

“I do have to admit something,” Draco disclosed quietly, gauging her reaction. Hermione tried not to react much, but feared the curiosity in her eyes gave her away. “You asked me where I’ve been, for the past six months. I’ve been living in America--in the Muggle world, working at a cafe and keeping a modest apartment. I thought it would be good for me, to experience it on my own and form my own opinions. I’m  _ embarrassed  _ to say that I suppose Muggles aren’t all that bad.”

Hermione giggled and Draco grinned at her; his tone was teasing, conveying that he actually quite  _ enjoyed  _ Muggles, and while Hermione wasn’t sure what to do with the information yet, she had to admit that some small part of her was completely satisfied with that answer.

“Did your mother force you onto George’s show?” Hermione asked, finishing off her sandwich and picking at the arrangement of fruit. Draco eyed her curiously.

“You always were too smart for your own good,” he sighed, setting aside his food and leaning back on his haunches with a smirk. “Naturally; she probably would have done so herself if she wasn’t so old.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione scolded, kicking his foot with hers as he laughed. 

“It’s not horribly inaccurate to the situation!” Draco defended, taking another sip of his wine and drawing pictures in the sand with his finger. “Anyhow, she knows we need to do something to get our lives back. Or, rather, to lead some semblance of a happy life from this point forward. This seemed like a good first step. Plus, the Manor was quite empty and lonely, it seemed a good, rather attention-getting place to host his show. It was an offer he likely couldn’t resist; me, you, Ginny, and the Manor all in one season of his show? It’s guaranteed to give him the greenlight for another one.”

“You’re right, of course,” Hermione agreed, and noticed she quite liked the faraway look that Draco got in his eyes when he was talking too much. Blimey, she sort of liked when he talked too much, too.

“And what about you?” Draco prodded, scooting away from his spot across from her in favor of sitting right next to her. She blushed, hoping the presence of the fire would explain the gesture away for her, and turned to look at him. He was staring down at her with open curiosity and a smirk at the corner of his lips.  _ Right where it belonged _ , she laughed to herself. “I think we all assumed that you were here for Ron, but clearly that isn’t the case?”

“Good grief,  _ no _ ,” Hermione objected harshly, eliciting a small chuckle from Draco. She found it impossible to look away from his kind eyes--and then impossible to believe that she could have  _ ever  _ described his eyes as  _ kind _ \--as she continued on with her story. “I didn’t want to come on the show. I didn’t even  _ sign up  _ for it, actually. Ginny tricked me into signing up, and  _ then  _ George put a clause in my agreement that I had to accept if any man offered me a rose, and then of course, when it’s girl’s week to hold the roses, I have to give one out as well. So the only way I can actually go home is if nobody offers me a rose at all and I’m therefore sent home. It’s...more logistical than that, obviously, but that’s the gist of it anyways.” Draco watched her warily, seemingly making out the entire scenario in his mind.

“And you’re certain that you’re getting a rose?” He asked, and Hermione was grateful that he didn’t ask the possible implications of her  _ breaking  _ the rules. She didn’t need to insult him and Pansy--whom even though she was beginning to like, she still didn’t necessarily want to  _ work  _ with. 

“Yes,” Hermione groaned, “Cormac is  _ very obviously  _ going to offer me his, and the implications of  _ that _ are obviously just downright humiliating,” Hermione groaned, “Not to mention there is absolutely  _ no chance  _ I’m ever going to pursue a  _ relationship  _ with him. So I’ll have to accept his rose and play along, and then, obviously, break his heart when the whole ordeal gets to engagements. Oh, bloody hell--”

“Well, then accept my rose,” Draco offered, and Hermione froze in shock. Accept...Draco’s rose? The implications of that were--

Well, she didn’t know  _ what  _ the implications of that were.

“I assumed you’d give yours to one of your friends,“ Hermione responded cautiously, taking a chug of her drink for bravery. “Millicent, or Daphne maybe; or if not them, I guess I thought that there might be somebody here who you did want to pursue a romantic relationship with.”

“There’s nobody back at the Manor that I want to pursue a romantic relationship with,” Draco interrupted, and Hermione noticed that he didn’t say there was nobody in the show that he wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with, but, she figured, she was getting quite ahead of herself in that assumption. She promptly brushed it away and focused instead on Draco’s words. “As for Millicent or Daphne--I mean,  _ sure,  _ I could offer my rose to them. We are friends, after all, and they likely wouldn’t read anything into it. However, you’re also now my friend and you seem to be in a trickier situation than the two of them, so in that case--why shouldn’t I just offer it to you?” He graced her with a brilliant smile and even nudged her shoulder teasingly. Hermione couldn’t help but feel utterly satisfied with his answer and she smiled back at him, with every intention to assure him that she would accept his rose when it came time for it, when something else nagged at the back of her mind.

“There’s this Muggle movie that my mother loved,” she responded, picking at the rest of her food and setting it down in the sand for a moment. Draco quirked an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes, picking up the discarded food and setting it on her lap instead. “Anyway, it’s a romantic comedy movie. About a couple who gets married while they’re drunk and then wins a lot of money as they’re trying to divorce. There’s a scene in it where this song plays while they’re dancing and--that’s it,” she sighed, a smile making its way to her eyes. “That’s my song; it’s called What A Feeling, I believe, and every time I need to feel better, that’s the song I play. That’s my favorite song to dance to.”

There was a gleam in Draco’s eye.

“I’ll remember that.”


End file.
